


Out of Body

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Community: paperlegends, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Frottage, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rating: NC17, Recreational Drug Use, References to Suicide, Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding out that his best friend is gay shouldn't be a big deal. But then, catching Merlin wanking to gay porn shouldn't turn Arthur on, either. With his plans for uni in shambles and his position on the high school footie team lost to injury, Arthur's determined not to disappoint his father any further. Running away from Merlin seems like the easiest thing to do, but his denial might cost him everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** So many people helped get me through this! Thank you paperpushers and especially the_muppet for her hard work as a wonderful mod. Heaps of love to my amazing betas, arcadianmaggie and asya_ana, who’ve helped to mold this story into something coherent and readable and, I hope, good! I also couldn’t have completed it without the cheerleading/pre-reading of mab_di, who is always so gracious with her time. The lovely 40_miles helped me get rid of my pervasive Americanisms, and im_not_a_lizard lent me her knowledge of football so that I didn’t come off sounding like a tosser. Thank you, thank you, to all my wonderful friends. Any errors or anachronisms that continue to exist are my own.
> 
> Finally, I’d like to extend my worship to alby_mangroves for the gorgeous art she created for this story, which can be found on her livejournal [here](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/9767.html), and is also integrated throughout the story below. I adore the way she focused on Merlin and Arthur’s faces and captured the emotion of the story through the metaphor of a vine taking root and growing. Don’t forget to go leave her some love. Alby, you were an absolute pleasure to work with bb, and I’m so proud of the thing we’ve created together. Muah!
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : The BBC and Shine own Merlin; all copyrights lie with them. No infringement or offense is intended.

 

 

Merlin was sitting at his computer with his back to the door, the music turned loud—some sort of hipster indie rock—when Arthur came round with his coursework. Arthur was just about to yell ‘Oi’ and throw something at the chair when a shock ran through him. There were two men on the computer screen touching each other in ways that made Arthur break out in a cold sweat. Merlin’s arm was moving up and down, up and down, up and fucking down.  _Shit_.  
  
Arthur held his breath and started backing away, but Merlin let out a long, soft moan. It sounded . . . odd. It made Arthur’s dick jerk in his pants and now he had to absolutely get the hell out of there because this was  _Merlin_ , and he was wanking and had no idea Arthur was standing there like a perverted idiot. The song ended and Arthur could hear what the men were saying to each other.  _Fuck yeah, oh yeah, take my cock. Fuck._  And Merlin let out a whimper just before the next song began. His movements became faster, more frantic, and Arthur’s own prick was getting hard and that was confusing because he did not like men or get aroused by them doing sexual things to each other.  
  
And Merlin did.  
  
 _What the fuck?_  
  
Arthur backed away, and then turned and fled down the hall, heart racing. He didn’t stop at the bottom of the stairs when Merlin’s mum called after him, just ran out of the house and down the street, feet pounding against the pavement and probably undoing months of physio.  
  
He hobbled to a walk as he approached his house, a brick-built semi, typical of those beyond York’s city center. Mr. Tomlin gave him a wave from across the way, but Arthur barely registered it. His mind was still replaying the scene he’d just fled in an endless loop.  
  
“Oh shit,” he said, sitting on the front step to catch his breath, head in hands. His knee was fucking killing him; the doctors had said no running for at least another couple of months, but he’d had to get away.  
  
He could still see Merlin’s hand moving—could hear the noises coming from Merlin’s computer. Fuck, the sounds coming from  _Merlin_.  
  
Men. Merlin liked watching men have sex.  
  
“Arthur?” his sister Morgana called out from behind. “What are you  _doing_? We need to get ready for Aunt Viv’s.”  
  
“Yeah. I know,” he replied, voice croaky. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  
  
“You’re so annoying,” Morgana said. He turned around and rolled his eyes at her. Just turned sixteen, Morgana fancied herself some sort of adult, more mature than Arthur even though Arthur was nearly two years older. She swept her long black hair over her shoulder and frowned at him. “I’m going to finish packing,” she said. “She’s picking us up in twenty minutes. Just rang. So . . .”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Arthur stood, gritting his teeth against the pain, and pushed past her into the house. Maybe packing would take his mind off what had just happened.  
  
The morning had started like any other. Merlin had called Arthur and told him he wasn’t feeling well, so Arthur should pick up his coursework and bring it over if it wasn’t too much trouble.  _It's no bother,_  Arthur had said,  _but fuck, Merls, how can you be ill again?_  He and Merlin were best mates, had been since they were in nappies. According to Aunt Viv, their mothers had been like sisters, had even been pregnant together, which was how Merlin and Arthur had gotten their matched set of names. Hunith and Ygraine had loved the Arthurian legends, but Arthur was just glad he’d ended up with the more normal name of the two. Anyway, as weird as it was, Merlin’s name suited him. He didn’t seem to mind it.  
  
Merlin was always sick—he was allergic to everything on the planet, including chocolate, which Arthur couldn’t understand. How could anyone be allergic to chocolate? Or cheese, for that matter? Arthur, on the other hand, had the constitution of an ox. According to his father, the Chief Constable, the ability to fight off illness ran in the Pendragon genes. Uther Pendragon never got ill, ever, which meant that even when Arthur was sick as a dog, he never stayed home from school.  
  
Not that Merlin even needed to go to school—he already passed one set of ‘A’ levels a whole year early and was taking more, just because. All of their lives they’d seemed opposites, at least to those who didn’t know them well. Merlin preferred books, while Arthur favoured sports. Of course Arthur wasn’t an idiot; he did well when he wanted to. He just rarely wanted to. Merlin was a computer genius—was one of those blokes who could hack into a computer network and take the whole bloody thing down if he felt like it. Arthur had a Facebook that he never updated, but that was about all. He couldn’t be bothered staying inside and playing games when there was a whole world outside—footie practice, friends, parties—unless of course that game was God of War. That one he liked, and Merlin could persuade him to hang round and play for hours until his father would ring and tell Merlin’s mum to send Arthur home. Lately, that had been happening more and more, since Arthur had torn his ACL and been forced to quit his football club.  
  
Arthur had owned the pitch as a centre mid, blessed with an ability to see beyond the immediate play and imagine passes that opposing teams wouldn’t see coming. And he was fast. He’d even dared to imagine a professional career when reality had set in with one bad move in the middle of a match. He’d cut too sharply to the left to avoid an oncoming player, twisted his knee, and heard a devastating pop before he’d gone down, tearing muscle as well as the ligament. His team had lost, and Arthur had earned surgery and four months of physio. It had been a harsh blow, and Merlin was the only one who really understood.  
  
To most people, the two of them couldn’t have been more different. And in a lot of ways they were, but nevertheless Arthur and Merlin were best mates. So why, thought Arthur, remembering the images of the naked men on Merlin’s computer screen, did he suddenly feel like he didn’t know Merlin at all?  
  
It wasn’t that he hated gay people. Arthur wasn’t like his father, who’d been known to make offhand, nasty comments about poofs on occasion. There’d been some recent controversy with an openly gay officer on the force being harassed, and while Chief Constable Pendragon had publicly denounced the behavior of the other officers involved, Arthur suspected he secretly agreed with them. No, Arthur wasn’t like that—he didn’t care one way or the other; people could live their lives the way they wanted.  
  
But Merlin was his best mate . . . and then there was the troubling fact that Arthur himself had become . . . fucking hell, there was no denying he’d got a hard on. Another memory rushed to the surface—he’d been fourteen, wrestling with one of his friends, and the brushing and struggling had coaxed him into half-mast. Of course in those days he got an erection at the slightest breeze, so it hadn’t really bothered him, and he’d hidden it well enough. But now . . .  
  
Arthur paused in his packing and stared at his bed. He and Gwen had fooled around on it just yesterday, and it had been nice. There was absolutely no way he liked blokes. He thought about Gwen, imagined her tits, and decided, yes, they were definitely hot. Other guys thought so, too.  
  
“You ready?” Morgana asked, startling him. “She’s here.”  
  
Arthur nodded, grabbed his jacket from his desk chair, and headed after his sister. It was only then he realised, stomach lurching to his knees, that he’d dropped the coursework on Merlin’s bedroom floor.  
  
When Merlin called fifteen minutes later, they were already headed towards Edinburgh on the A1. Arthur didn’t pick up his mobile.

********

Aunt Viviane lived in a spacious downtown Edinburgh tenement flat not far from the Royal Mile. Ever since Arthur and Morgana were little, they’d spent a weekend each month with her to allow Uther some time to himself and, Arthur presumed, to give both him and Morgana a mothering influence. Arthur loved Scotland. He loved taking long walks up through Holyrood Park to picnic on Arthur’s Seat, the highest lookout point of the hills. As a kid, he’d thought of it as his own place, named after King Arthur, just as he was. He’d ask Aunt Viv to take him to  _his hill._  One summer week when they were ten, Merlin had come along; they’d spent an entire afternoon running around, annoying tourists, and pretending they lived during the time of the legends, when Arthur was king and Merlin his most trusted advisor.  
  
 _“But I want to be a knight,” Merlin complained, pouting.  
  
“You can’t be. It’s your destiny to be, like, a wizard.”  
  
“You’re so bossy, Arth.”  
  
“If you don’t want to be the coolest character, it’s up to you.”  
  
“What d’you mean?”  
  
“Well, Merlin was the most powerful sorcerer ever. You can pretend to have magic and stuff. That’s way cooler than being a knight.”  
  
Merlin grinned, convinced, then thrust out his hand. “Bam!”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“You’re dead. I just killed you with my magic.”  
  
“You’re supposed to protect me, not kill me. That’s what the legends say.”  
  
“Maybe if you’d stop being such a bossy arse . . .”_  
  
The memories of that weekend sat heavy in his mind as Arthur clutched his mobile and scrolled though the missed calls. Merlin had rung twice more since they’d arrived the day before. At least Merlin knew he was at Viv’s—it was some excuse, at least.  
  
“You’re quiet this visit, Arthur,” Aunt Viv said. Her green eyes, now lined around the edges with age, grew serious as she regarded him. Morgana was out with some local friends, and Arthur and his aunt were watching telly, making comments about the latest reality TV debacles.  
  
“Sorry. Don’t mean to be.”  
  
“Something going on at school? Or with your Da?” Though she’d lived in Scotland for nearly twenty years, Viviane’s voice still held traces of Irish. Arthur often wondered if his mother had sounded the same, if her voice was low and smooth like Viv’s.  
  
Arthur shrugged, torn. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her any of what he’d seen in Merlin’s room, but the prospect of getting it off his chest tempted him. “Just something weird with a mate,” he finally said. It seemed a harmless enough thing to say.  
  
“Ah, I see. You have a falling out?”  
  
“Not really. Just . . . what if you found something out about a friend and it changed everything?”  
  
“Must be a pretty major secret to change everything.”  
  
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know. It’s . . . I don’t know.” He shook his head, feeling stupid he’d brought it up at all.  
  
“You’re very cryptic, lad,” she said with a laugh. “Is this friend Merlin, by any chance?”  
  
Arthur blushed, not able to help himself. He was pretty sure Merlin would murder him if he told anyone, even Viv, though she was one of the most open-minded people Arthur knew.  
  
“It’s just something fuc . . . strange happened. And I don’t know how I feel about it.”  
  
“Merlin’s a good friend of yours. What’s happened? Is he after your Gwen?”  
  
He snorted at the irony. “No. Not at all.”  
  
“You can tell me. I’ve been around, my boy, and obviously I’m not going to blab to your mates.”  
  
Arthur took a deep breath, looked at the phone in his hands. His aunt had always been easy to talk to; most of the time he felt closer to her than he did to his own father. If anyone could help him figure out what to do, it was Viv. “I think Merlin’s gay.”  
  
“Oh,” she said, not as surprised as he’d expected. “He told you that?”  
  
“No, not really. But let’s say I’m almost positive it’s true.”  
  
“And you're bothered?”  
  
“I dunno. It's just . . . he never told me—it’s like a pretty big thing, yeah?”  
  
She nodded, brought her hand to her chin. Arthur wondered if he’d done the right thing by mentioning it because he couldn’t ever remember feeling so uncomfortable.  
  
“So, have you talked about it? Does he know you suspect?” she asked.  
  
Thinking about his overhasty exit from Merlin’s, and the papers he’d dropped, made him grimace. What must Merlin think of him? “Yeah he knows, but no, we haven’t.”  
  
“If he didn’t tell you, you found out by accident, I’m assuming. How does he feel?”  
  
“He’s probably embarrassed or pissed off at me or something. I don’t really know what to do.”  
  
Through the faint afternoon light, Aunt Viv’s hair looked like spun wool, fluffy and gold-red. Arthur took after her and his mother, he’d been told, whereas Morgana had been born dark like their father. Viv smiled and patted his knee.  
  
“Well, let me tell you what I think. You two have been friends forever, and whether or not he likes blokes doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s still the same person, still your mate. And it sounds like maybe Merlin needs your support. It’s not always a kind world for people who are different.” She sounded like she knew what she was talking about from experience.  
  
Arthur nodded. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He didn’t dare tell her about the other, more troubling thing that was bothering him.  
  
“You’re a good lad. I know you’ll do the right thing.”  
  


********

  
After lessons on Monday, Arthur caught sight of Merlin in the corridor. He was carrying his trumpet case, walking with a girl from Arthur’s sociology A-level class and a laughing at something she'd said. He looked fine, not at all sad or depressed, and for a moment Arthur wondered if maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe Merlin didn’t even know he’d been there after all . . . maybe . . . But then Merlin turned, cutting Arthur’s relief short. He gave Arthur an odd look, then turned, shoulders visibly slouched.  
  
All weekend Arthur’d only thought about himself, what the incident had meant for him, and now Merlin was walking away from him like they weren’t even friends anymore. And that just wasn’t true, not if Arthur had anything to say about it. He took off down the hall after Merlin, passing Gwen and Morgana and giving them a wave, promising Gwen he’d ring her later. Morgana rolled her eyes.  
  
“All right, mate?” Arthur said when he caught up. Merlin stopped but didn’t meet his eyes. His lips looked sore and chapped, like he’d been practicing his trumpet all weekend.  
  
“All right.” Merlin kicked at the floor.  
  
Arthur couldn’t figure what to say—probably best to drop the whole thing and pretend it had never happened. “You off now? Wanna walk together?”  
  
Merlin turned his head and wrinkled his nose at what he probably thought was a stupid question. He had a private music tutor on Mondays; of course Arthur knew. Merlin shook his arm, rattling his case for emphasis.  
  
“Can’t.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Both of them had stopped and stood caught in a stream of students escaping for the day.  
  
“I phoned you,” Merlin said. His cheeks flushed, which made Arthur’s cheeks flush, remembering.  
  
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was in Edinburgh.”  
  
“So . . . we still mates?”  
  
When Arthur looked back at Merlin, he panicked. They couldn’t talk about this at college. They just couldn’t. But Merlin appeared as awkward as Arthur felt. He stood waiting for Arthur’s answer, holding his trumpet with both hands and looking glum—that kicked puppy look he sometimes got that made Arthur strangely protective.  
  
“Of course. You know that. I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have . . .”  
  
Sometimes Arthur said stupid things, but Merlin knew how to cut him off before he completely bolloxed things for good.  
  
“I’ve gotta go. If I ring later, will you answer your phone?”  
  
Arthur nodded, happy that Merlin looked slightly less hurt.  
  
“I will. Now go blow them all away.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes widened, though it took Arthur a second to realise what he’d said. He winced. “I didn’t mean it like . . . It’s just . . . you blow the trumpet.”  
  
“You can be such a idiot, you know?”  
  
Arthur didn’t really suppose he could argue with that.  
  


********

  
When his mobile rang at half seven, Arthur looked at it for a moment. He took a swig of the beer he’d nicked from the fridge, emboldened by the cold-warm rush of courage before pressing the talk button. It was, after all, only Merlin. Nothing to be afraid of.  
  
“Hey, Merls,” said Arthur.  
  
If someone had asked Arthur how many conversations he’d had with Merlin over the last fifteen years, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. They debated pretty much everything—from the replacement of David Tennant with Matt Smith, to a dissection of the mystery meat in the dining hall, to whether ‘The Only Way Is Essex’ was a good show or crap (they both agreed: crap), to where they were going to uni and what they wanted to be (Arthur had no idea, Merlin did). They talked about everything and nothing, so why was Arthur’s heart hammering when Merlin said, “hello?”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Yeah, you said that.”  
  
“Did I? Oh good.”  
  
On the other end of the line, Merlin groaned. “Arthur, you’re making this weird.”  
  
“ _I’m_  making this weird?”  
  
Sometime over the weekend, Arthur had concluded that it was completely normal he’d been turned on seeing Merlin wank because wanking was wanking, yeah? It had just reminded him of wanking and made him want to do it, too. Made complete and total sense. And it didn’t matter if it was blokes or not on the screen, because he hadn’t  _really_  seen what they were doing, not up close. Arthur may be straight and like girls and have no interest in boys and seeing men touch each other, but he certainly didn’t care if Merlin did. He was going to be a supportive friend, no matter what.  
  
“Kinda, yeah. I mean you come into my room without knocking and now you’re being all . . . dodgy. And I’m sorry, but I mean, who does that?”  
  
“I thought you were ill.”  
  
“I was, but my door was closed for a reason.”  
  
“I heard your emo music and worried you might have offed yourself,” Arthur tried. His comment didn’t even earn a chuckle. Why  _had_  he just burst in without knocking? Because he always did, that’s why. They’d been barging in on each other since they were old enough to barge.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, you could have knocked. I mean, this is weirder for me than it is for you.”  
  
Arthur stopped himself before he said  _is it? Is it_  really  _weirder for you? Because it’s pretty bloody weird for me!_  “You’re right. But maybe in the future if things come up you should tell me things so that things don’t get weird.”  
  
“I have no idea what any of that means.”  
  
For some reason, Arthur found himself pacing around his room. He stared hard at his David Bowie poster as he tried to channel the right words to make Merlin not hate him, but also to guilt him for never telling Arthur the truth. They were supposed to be  _mates_  after all. If only he were the Thin White Duke. David Bowie wouldn’t have cared if Merlin liked to watch gay porn and wank; in fact, he’d probably have joined in.  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, exasperated.  
  
“Well, I didn’t know you liked blokes, did I? I mean, it’s fine if you do and all; I’m not judging, but honestly, it was a bit of a shock.”  
  
Merlin laughed, but he sounded more angry than happy. “A bit of a shock. Well, imagine what it was like from my end, to turn round with the door open and papers scattered everywhere. For a moment I thought it was my mum, and I almost had a heart attack and died.”  
  
At that, Arthur had to chuckle. Merlin loved to exaggerate, but there really was nothing more embarrassing than a family member walking in on you when you were  _in flagrante delicto_ , a term he’d picked up from a romance novel of Morgana’s. His father had once caught him wanking but hadn’t spoken a word about it; he’d simply turned and left the room. Arthur had only been thirteen at the time. They’d avoided each other for a couple of days after, and that was that.  
  
It must be different for Merlin living only with his mum; his bastarding father had left them when Merlin was only ten, just after that summer trip to Edinburgh. Still, the thought of a mother walking in mid-wank was certainly worse than a father.  
  
“Don’t you have a lock?” Arthur asked.  
  
“Actually, no. I don’t.”  
  
“Honestly, I’m sorry. I had no intention of interrupting your . . . private—”  
  
“I really don’t want to talk about this,” said Merlin, cutting him off. “God.”  
  
“I don’t either.”  
  
“You’re upset because I’m gay.”  
  
“You really are, eh?”  
  
“Yeah. I really am. And you’re upset, obviously.”  
  
“No! I’m not upset. I swear.” There were so many thoughts knocking into each other in his head, all of them confusing and unutterable. How had Merlin known he was gay? How had he found the video he was watching? Did he like anyone at school, or someplace else? Did he like girls too, or just boys? Was he a virgin? It had never even crossed Arthur’s mind that Merlin liked blokes. Then again, Merlin had never really dated a girl, except for Freya when they were fifteen, but that had ended when she’d moved to France. Arthur scratched his head and flopped back down on his bed.  
  
“Well, then why are you making a thing of it?” Merlin asked, breaking through the crazy in Arthur’s brain.  
  
“I just . . . why didn’t you tell me before?”  
  
“I haven’t told anyone.” Merlin’s voice was soft. “Except my mum.”  
  
“Oh.” Suddenly he felt terrible for telling Aunt Viv.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin said, and Arthur realised he’d been too quiet again.  
  
“It really doesn’t matter to me,” he heard himself saying. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.” Then, remembering what Viviane had said about Merlin needing support, added, “are you . . . okay?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m fine. Being gay isn’t a  _disease,_  Arthur.”  
  
“I didn’t think it was. I just . . . wanted to know if you were okay.”  
  
“I’m fine, really,” Merlin said.  
  
“So, how long have you known? That you, you know—”  
  
“That I’m gay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’ve always known,” Merlin said.  
  
“So, are you gonna tell people?”  
  
“You mean like at Ealdor?”  
  
“Yeah.” For some reason, the thought of people knowing Merlin was gay made Arthur nervous . . . like would they think Arthur was a poof, too? Of course he could never say that to Merlin, so he kept his mouth shut.  
  
Merlin sighed. “I don’t get this whole  _coming out_  thing. Straight people aren’t expected to make announcements about whom they like to fuck. What am I supposed to do, wear a rainbow banner? I mean . . . if I wanted to date someone I’d do it. I wouldn’t hide, but I think there’s a bit of a double standard.”  
  
The words came out in a rush, making Arthur’s head spin. He hadn’t ever thought about that—that double standard business—but it made perfect sense. Of course Merlin would’ve come up with something like that. It made Arthur proud, how smart he was. “I guess you’re right.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, thoughts drifting instead to the idea of Merlin dating someone.  _Was_  there anyone he wanted to date?  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice had gotten high-pitched, worried.  
  
“Yeah. I’m here.”  
  
“I’m afraid you’re going to think of me differently. You’ll go off with Gwaine and Percy and you won’t want me round . . .”  
  
“I would never do that,” Arthur said, injecting vehemence into his tone. “You’re still my best mate. And I admit this is a bit of a shock, but honestly, it’s not all I’m going to think about, all right?”  
  
From his perch on the wall, Bowie approved. Arthur just hoped he wouldn’t prove himself a liar.  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Can we please talk about something else? Something that doesn’t make me want to claw my eyes out?”  
  
“Yeah.” So Arthur did what he did best—he came up with a ridiculous diversion involving the psychology test he’d taken earlier that day, some bollocks about the id and the ego and the superego and Freud’s fear of vagina. Merlin laughed, spurring Arthur on. Soon, it almost felt as if nothing weird at all had occurred.  
  
Towards the end of the conversation, talk turned to Bonfire Night. Arthur and his old footie mates were planning on getting some fireworks and heading over to Gwen’s, and Arthur invited Merlin along, too. It would do him good to be a bit more social. Merlin didn’t seem too keen on the idea, but Arthur promised it wouldn’t be like last year when they’d both gotten so pissed on White Lightening they’d been hungover for days.  
  
Merlin finally agreed, and Arthur hung up feeling pleased. They were the same Merlin and Arthur as always, except one of them was a bit gay.  
  
Arthur was just about to call Gwen up and see if she wanted to come over, when it hit him.  
  
His father.  
  
No. Uther could never know.


	2. Chapter Two

It turned out, however, that Bonfire Night promised to be even more mental than it had the year before, mainly because this year, with Gwaine and Percy being eighteen, they had easier access to booze. Moreover, they had the whole place to themselves. Gwen’s parents often travelled on the weekends, which made her house on a sprawling farm miles outside the city perfect for parties, especially ones that involved bonfires.  
  
Despite the fact that he’d be turning eighteen in just three months and that half of his friends were legal, Arthur still felt the panic of the under-aged, worried about what his father would say if they were caught. The Chief Constable certainly wouldn’t be pleased. His position in the community made him stricter with Arthur than most of his friends’ parents when it came to drinking. Most seventeen year olds (even Merlin) could go on the lash with no problem, but all the publicans knew Arthur’s father. He couldn’t get away with much.  
  
“Oi lads, check this!” Attention turned towards the opposite end of the field where Percy hunched over a firework, his lighter flashing for a moment and making the wick sizzle. The girls _oohed_ and _aahed_ as the thing exploded not ten feet off the ground with a flash of red and blue, sparks raining down on anyone pissed enough to be in the way.  
  
“That one was crap, wasn’t it?” came Gwaine’s voice from behind. He passed Arthur a shot of absinthe. It smelled strongly of licorice and Arthur downed it all in a gulp, shaking his head to clear it of the taste. Horrible, like the chewy Black Jacks his gran used to force upon him as a child. Gwaine watched him, grinning.  
  
“All of them are crap,” Arthur replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Gwaine had taken over Arthur’s position when he had to drop off the team and was now the best player on the pitch. They’d been friends for years, though since Arthur’s injury it had been hard for him to be around his former teammates.  
  
“It’s a bloody shame. I knew I should’ve gone with him to buy the right shite. Bugger it, you can’t trust Percy with—”  
  
Arthur nodded, accepting another shot because if Gwaine could drink it, he could, but he’d stopped listening; his attention was drawn to a small group on the other side of the fire. Merlin stood talking with Lance and Gwen—Gwen, who’d been cross at Arthur for forgetting their ‘anniversary’ a couple of days before. (They’d broken up and gotten back together twice in the last year, so hell if he remembered _which_ of those dates was the most important.) They’d smoothed it over but Arthur had a feeling she hadn’t completely let it go.  
  
Like Merlin, Gwen had plans. She was acing her A-levels and had already been interviewed for a sought-after place on a London university medical degree course. Arthur had finally submitted his personal statement to his form teacher to look over before submitting it to UCAS, but it’d come back with so many corrections he hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin. _Too vague_ , the arse had marked at one point. _Where do you see yourself in five years? What do you want to_ do, _Arthur?_  
  
Fucked if Arthur knew. A year ago, his answer would have been simple: football. But despite his physio’s insistence that he could play once he was healed, Arthur knew no professional clubs would want him now that he wasn’t in top form. In any case, it wasn’t practical. His father insisted he forget his childish dreams and choose a path to a respectable career—either university or the police. Arthur wasn’t interested in either, at least not right away. He was tired of school, tired of lessons. If he got a degree, he wanted it to be on his terms. Still, practically everyone from his sixth form was headed to uni, and Arthur didn’t want to be left behind.  
  
Gwen wanted Arthur to come with her to London. That had been part of their last fight, as well; she’d found the personal statement (printed out, covered in corrections, hopeless) and been hacked off that he hadn’t submitted it yet.  
  
 _I’m starting to think you don’t want to come with me, Arthur_ , she’d said.  
  
Arthur had assured her he did, but when she’d gone he’d thought about it, not convinced he’d told her the truth. He wasn’t sure whether it was Gwen, university, London—but whatever it was inspired panic low and nagging in his gut.  
  
Feeling his eyes on her from across the fire, Gwen caught his gaze and held it, giving him a small smile before turning away and laughing at something Lance had said. Merlin was laughing too, looking more relaxed than he had at the beginning of the party. The beer in his hand probably had something to do with it—Merlin was a terrible lightweight, Arthur thought, his own brain beginning to feel the effects of the absinthe. It irritated him, the three of them all cozy and happy, and Arthur was beginning to be very put out when Merlin smiled over at him and gestured for Arthur to join them.  
  
He almost resisted, but Merlin waved again. Gwaine had abandoned him in search of someone to shag, so Arthur had no excuse. He went over, trying to feel more sociable.  
  
“What’s up, stormy?” Merlin asked. He wore a hat and scarf and a puffy jacket but he still looked cold. The tip of his nose was red.  
  
“I'm not mad,” Arthur said. He took another sip of his beer and crossed his arms. Then, aware that his stance would only confirm Merlin’s assessment, dropped them again.  
  
“What were you drinking over there?” Gwen asked him. She’d moved away from Lance and now stood close to Arthur, rubbing his arm. “Was that the absinthe?”  
  
“Yeah. It was rubbish.”  
  
“I’ve heard it makes you hallucinate,” said Lance. “You feel anything?”  
  
“Nah,” said Arthur, not really in the mood to talk. Arthur always felt a little self-conscious around Lancelot when they were all out. Although he never drank himself because his father was an alcoholic, Lance was never judgmental of what they got up to.  
  
Lance shrugged. “Probably takes some time to kick in.”  
  
“Maybe. I’ll let you know when you start growing daisies out your arse,” Arthur said.  
  
“You shouldn’t have any more, though,” Gwen added, looking worried. “Because then it could hit you all at once, you know? You don’t know how it will affect you.”  
  
“Okay, Mum,” Arthur said, trying to keep his tone light. Gwen didn’t like accusations of being a nagging girlfriend. She wasn’t, generally, but Arthur was a bit cheesed off at how close she’d been standing to Lance before he’d come over. In any case, she scowled at him.  
  
“Do what you want, Arthur, seriously.”  
  
“Plan to.”  
  
Lance shot him a look, and Arthur drained the rest of his beer. “Looks like I need another,” he said.  
  
It wasn’t until he’d started walking away from the group that he noticed Merlin was following him.  
  
“I need another, too,” Merlin said.  
  
“You look like you’ve already had a skinful, mate,” Arthur replied. Merlin’s eyes had gone a little unfocused, and he was smiling his sleepy, half-drunk smile. As slight as Merlin was, it didn’t take more than three drinks to put him under the table.  
  
“Just two, _Mum_ ,” Merlin said pointedly.  
  
Arthur sighed, reached for another can of Boddington’s, grabbing one for Merlin.  
  
Percy had lit another firework. It shot up, sputtered pink and green, and went out. Girls cheered, definitely more for Percy than for the sorry excuse of a display—his muscular arms were bare, as always. Arthur opened his beer with a _pop_ and took a long swig.  
  
“What was that back there?” Merlin asked. “You two fighting again?” His eyebrows were raised as he sipped his own beer.  
  
“A little. Well, we were. I really shouldn’t have said that. I just . . . I don’t know. Fuck.” Arthur tugged on his hair, sighing in frustration. He could see Gwen over with some other girls now, occasionally glancing over at him. Probably telling them what a twat he was. “Girls are so weird,” he concluded.  
  
Merlin nodded. “Glad I don’t have to worry about them. But,” he said, “blokes are just as weird.”  
  
“Yeah?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice casual. They hadn’t talked any more about the gay thing since their phone conversation the week before. Arthur hadn’t wanted to make it a big deal because that was what Merlin feared, and Merlin clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Or at least he hadn’t.  
  
Merlin stared at the can in his gloved hands, head lowered. “Yeah,” he said.  
  
“So do you . . . you know, like anyone?” Maybe it wasn’t a good question, Arthur thought after he’d already asked it. It made him feel uncomfortable.  
  
Merlin let out a nervous laugh and glanced away toward the rest of the group. What if Merlin liked one of them? Lance? Percy? Arthur tried to make out where his eyes had drifted. None of them were gay, though, so he hoped for Merlin’s sake that wasn’t the case. He’d heard rumors Gwaine was bi . . . no, absolutely not. Arthur wouldn’t allow Gwaine within twenty feet of Merlin. That bugger probably had all sorts of nasty diseases.  
  
“I guess, yeah. I do,” Merlin said.  
  
“Who?” Why couldn’t he stop asking questions? He didn’t even know if he _wanted_ to know.  
  
Merlin squirmed. “I’m not telling you that.”  
  
“Why not? I won’t say anything.”  
  
“You don’t know him, okay, so it doesn’t matter.”  
  
“If I don’t know him then why can’t you tell me?”  
  
“ _Because_. You’re a nosy git, you know that?”  
  
“Sorry.” He didn’t want Merlin to be annoyed with him, not when the rest of the world already was. “But if you wanna, like, talk about it or anything, you can talk to me.” Then he pushed Merlin, maybe a little too hard. Merlin stumbled, splashed beer, righted himself.  
  
“You arse,” Merlin said, shaking his coat sleeve.  
  
“It’s not my fault you have the balance of a drunk giraffe.”  
  
Merlin laughed, shoved Arthur back. “Thanks,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, well. Just please tell me it’s not Gwaine.”  
  
“What’s not me?” Gwaine asked. Arthur hadn’t heard him approach to get more beer. “What are you two birds gabbing about?”  
  
Merlin threw Arthur a look that would have frozen hell.  
  
“Just that you can’t be trusted with driving anyone home tonight,” Arthur said. Merlin smiled, so relieved that Arthur smiled, too.  
  
“What? I’m completely sober,” Gwaine said, making a show of slurring his words.  
  
“You’re rat-arsed.”  
  
“And you’re not? Should be by now! Come on, lads,” Gwaine said, throwing his arms around both of their shoulders, “let’s get properly pissed.”  
  


********

  
Gwaine, Arthur decided, was very, very, very bad. And Arthur was a moron for letting himself be carried along. Now he was sick, heaving alone in Gwen’s parent’s loo (because some couple was shagging in hers), and wondering how to get the floor to stop spinning. And the ceiling, the ceiling was being a prick as well. Arthur vomited again and wiped at his mouth. It was a small miracle he’d made it to the toilet at all.  
  
A knock at the door made his head throb.  
  
“G’way,” he said, probably not loudly enough. Whoever it was knocked again.  
  
“Arthur?” It was Merlin’s voice.  
  
“No,” Arthur said, louder this time. “He died.”  
  
The door opened and Merlin poked his head inside. Arthur turned his head and squinted, his stomach churning with the effort of the movement.  
  
“Here you are. God, I’ve been looking everywhere.” Merlin sounded a little more than tipsy himself. But Arthur waved his hand as Merlin approached and reached to flush his sick away.  
  
“I hate Gwaine,” Arthur said.  
  
“I hate him, too.”  
  
That made Arthur smile, despite the fact he felt wobbly all over. Merlin knelt down beside him and touched Arthur’s forehead with the back of his hand. It felt nice, but Arthur was definitely going to throw up again. He pushed Merlin out of the way and retched again, too miserable to be embarrassed. There was nothing left in his stomach, though, so dry heaves wracked his body as he gripped the toilet.  
  
There was a noise from behind and then Merlin clasped his shoulder, handing him a glass of water.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Mental note, absinthe is off the menu,” Merlin said, sitting back down.  
  
“Ugh, devil’s brew. Don’t remind me, please.” Arthur sipped at the tap water and grimaced when it left a faint metallic taste in his mouth. This was not good. He couldn’t quite remember ever feeling this bad before.  
  
“Sorry. Fuck's sake, Arthur, you’re really sick. Should I call someone?”  
  
“No. I’m fine, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Pretty much everyone is gone except Gwen, Gwaine, and Lance. They’re still all out by the fire. Gwen is . . . she’s okay. I think Percy’s in here with some girl.”  
  
Arthur nodded and drank more, trying to focus on Merlin’s words. Why would Gwen not be okay? The water was not sitting well in his stomach. It didn’t stop him from noting that it had been Merlin who’d come after him, though, and not his girlfriend.  
  
“I don’t feel good,” he said. “I think I’m going—” This time he didn’t even make it to the toilet. He threw up all over the front of his shirt.  
  
“Shit,” Merlin said, now sounding worried. “I think we should call someone. What if you have alcohol poisoning or something?”  
  
“No,” Arthur moaned. He was being wiped at with a towel. Somewhere in the haze of his brain he was glad it was only water; Merlin wouldn’t have to help him with genuine puke. “Please, no. My father will kill me. Just . . .”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Merlin said. He took the glass away and sat next to Arthur, shoulder to shoulder.  
  
“Wanna sleep . . .”  
  
“I don’t think you should lie down. That’s how people like, choke on their vomit and die.”  
  
“M’tired.”  
  
“I know,” said Merlin, “me too.”  
  
Arthur let his head loll to the side and rest on Merlin. God, his shoulder was bony. Merlin needed to eat more. His shoulder was bony and his face—his cheekbones. Arthur had never really noticed how pronounced they were before. They were kind of beautiful.  
  
“You’re . . . too skinny,” he said.  
  
Merlin snorted. “Sorry I’m not a good enough pillow.”  
  
“No, s’good. S’fine.” It was nice being close to Merlin, even if he wasn’t comfortable and smelled a little too much like bonfire. Arthur’s lids grew heavier. He thought he felt a hand petting his leg, but he couldn’t be certain because the room was still spinning.  
  
 _M’glad you’re here_ , he thought, just before he fell asleep.  
  


********

  
Arthur woke up with his head in Merlin’s lap, feeling like he’d been run over by a lorry.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, sleepy and confused. How the hell . . . and where . . . Merlin? _Oh_ , he thought, blinking as he struggled to sit up, _the party_. Gwen’s house. Fucking absinthe and Gwaine.  
  
“You drooled on me,” Merlin said.  
  
“At least I didn’t vomit on you.”  
  
“Thank God for small miracles.”  
  
Arthur’s mouth tasted like death and his head throbbed. “What time is it, anyway?”  
  
“I have no idea. I can’t find my mobile.”  
  
“Bugger,” Arthur said, “my father’s gonna kill me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin said. “My mum, too.”  
  
Then came the dawning awareness they were sitting very close, that Merlin’s thigh was pressed against his and he could see the stain of his drool on Merlin’s crotch. It looked like Merlin had pissed himself. Arthur didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or to make a joke about it.  
  
Merlin stood up, smiling despite the dark circles under his eyes.  
  
“Did you sleep at all?” Arthur asked, pointedly not looking at the wet mark that meant he’d basically kipped with his head on Merlin’s dick.  
  
“Not really. I was too busy keeping you from dying in your sleep.”  
  
“I feel like shit.”  
  
“You look like shit. Worse, even.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Come on,” Merlin said, “let’s go find our phones and you can apologise to Gwen.”  
  
“Apologise? Why?”  
  
Merlin’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”  
  
Arthur frowned, trying to make sense of the random images and snippets of conversation that were floating around in his head. He recalled standing by the fire, a shot of some sort of alcohol or other in his hand. Gwen and Lance standing together. Gwen looking at Arthur like he had horns, then her face crumpling into tears.  
  
“Merlin, I don’t . . . what did I do?”  
  
“You basically told her you weren’t going to uni or moving to London with her,” Merlin said. “In front of everyone.”  
  
“Oh no. I did.”  
  
“Yeah.” Merlin wrinkled his nose and scrunched his forehead in a sympathy nod.  
  
Gwen was sitting alone in the kitchen drinking coffee when they emerged from the bathroom. She stood when they entered and gave Merlin a half-smile, not looking at Arthur. Merlin stayed for a moment before he made some sort of excuse about going to look for his mobile. Once he’d gone, Arthur was left alone, the intensity of his hangover worsened by the hurt look on Gwen’s face.  
  
“Hey,” Arthur said.  
  
“Hi.” She turned her back to him, grabbed a sponge and started swiping at the counter. Arthur didn’t know what to say, how even to broach what had happened since he could barely remember it himself.  
  
“Listen, I—”  
  
“No, Arthur, you listen to me for a moment. I know you were off your head last night, but that’s no . . . you were horrible.”  
  
“I know,” he said, swallowing back the lump that told him he couldn’t make it right.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me before that you didn’t want this? Why? Why have you let me think this was _our_ plan for months? Now I feel like some sort of, I don’t know, harpy, making you come with me to London, making you be my . . . God.” She started crying, swiping her tears away with a flick of her wrist.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he said, eyes prickling because this was Gwen and he loved her, but apparently it wasn’t the kind of love that made him self-sacrificing. He wasn’t ready to settle down.  
  
She looked at her hands, gripped her cup. “You aren’t . . . you were serious, then. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t just that you . . . so this is it.”  
  
Maybe he should have corrected her, told her no, it wasn’t over, he would still go with her to London and get a flat. They’d go to uni, get married, have a kid or two, buy a house in the neighborhood. They’d be happy. Gwen was a cool girl, a good friend. Would he regret this one day?  
  
“Gwen—”  
  
She shook her head. “Just leave, okay? I need some time.”  
  
He nodded, resisted the urge to comfort her, because nothing he could say or do could make this right, save making a grand gesture. But, he finally understood, that would be a lie.  
  
Outside, Merlin was fiddling with his mobile. When Arthur checked his, he noticed he’d had two missed calls from his father.  
  
“How’d it go?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Not great.” Arthur stowed his phone and thrust his hands in his pockets.  
  
Merlin bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said. They stood, staring out at the road. Arthur’s head felt about ready to explode. Merlin bounced a little on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit that sometimes bothered Arthur, but didn’t now because he was just too miserable for irritation. He kicked at the gravel of the drive and wondered what the hell had just happened, if he and Gwen had really broken up for real.  
  
“My mum said she’ll pick us up. We can tell your dad you kipped at mine, if you want.”  
  
“Yeah. Sounds good.”  
  
“I don’t know about you, but I feel like my brain’s about to bleed out my ears.”  
  
Arthur sighed; he knew exactly what his friend was trying to do, but he just wanted silence for a proper wallow. “Merlin—”  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said.  
  
Hunith pulled up a few minutes later. The ride back to the city was quiet. Merlin sat in the front seat chatting to his mum, who after her initial chastisement of _you boys need to be more conscientious_ , to which both Merlin and Arthur answered, _yes Mum_ in unison, a joke of theirs, had seemed to let it go. And why shouldn’t she? Merlin was a perfect son, never gave her any trouble. It was easy to see how proud she was of his accomplishments in the fond way she looked at him, fiddled with his hair as he groaned an embarrassed _God, Mum, stop_. He’d probably make a fortune as a computer programmer and set her up in some posh country house one day.  
  
Arthur tried not to be envious of their relationship, the easy way they had together. He’d never had that with his father. Then again, neither had Merlin, at least not for long. Arthur barely remembered Balinor; he’d been a quiet man, seemingly kind, and Merlin had absolutely adored him. He had a knack for carving little wooden figures, even made one for Arthur. But one day he’d abandoned his family. Merlin told Arthur years later what his mother said: Balinor had been injured and had seen some terrible things in the Middle East before Merlin was born, had PTSD or some disorder and couldn’t lead a normal life.  
  
 _He’s sick. It’s not that he doesn’t love us,_ Merlin had said. Arthur still remembered the stubborn look on his friend’s face.  
  
Every year, Arthur saw how Merlin anticipated Balinor’s return, hoping maybe on his birthday, maybe on Christmas. He didn’t think Merlin waited anymore.  
  
After what seemed like forever, they finally pulled up in front of Arthur’s house.  
  
“Call me, yeah?” Merlin asked as Arthur clambered out of the back. Arthur looked back, nodded. Merlin’s concern showed on his face, but he was being careful not to let Hunith know something was wrong.  
  
Arthur’s father was sitting at the dining room table reading the paper when he entered. He didn’t look up.  
  
“Where have you been?” was the first question.  
  
“Fell asleep at Merlin’s,” Arthur said, deciding not to elaborate. His father was practically a human lie detector.  
  
“You know the rules while you live under my roof.”  
  
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Like I said, we fell asleep.”  
  
Uther raised his head, finally—gave Arthur an appraising look. His grey hair was pronounced at the temples; Arthur’d never noticed it before. He looked like he hadn’t slept.  
  
“I rang Hunith. She said you two were over Guinevere’s at a party.”  
  
 _Buggering hell._  
  
“Uh, well we—” Arthur stammered, cut off when Uther raised his hand.  
  
“I’m not in the mood to hear lies. You look a right mess. Have you been drinking?”  
  
“What? No,” Arthur said, trying to rein in his defensive tone.  
  
“You have three months, and until then I expect you to abide by the law. It’s not on, Arthur, not on at all, for the son of the Chief Constable to be seen out carousing.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Father; it won’t happen again.”  
  
“Very well, then.” His father snapped the paper and went back to reading; Arthur was dismissed.  
  


********

  
His father wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t a loving one. Arthur had learned that early in life.  
  
When he was seven, he’d won a trophy for a project he’d done in school—just a stupid little fake-gold statue—but Arthur had been proud. He’d come home that day and strategically placed it on the kitchen table, waiting for his dad to notice. He didn’t until later when Morgana, then only five, had brought it in to where he was reading in his chair.  
  
 _“Look, Father,” she said. “See what Arthur won?”  
  
Uther looked at the object in her hands, given Morgana a pat on the head. Arthur hung back in the doorway, waiting.  
  
“You won something?” His surprised tone was like a slap.  
  
“For my science project, Father.”  
  
“Well, that’s very fine. Well done, son.”_  
  
He’d smiled, and Arthur had lived on that smile and those words for months. It was the highest praise he’d ever received.  
  
One year during a Christmas visit to his gran’s, Arthur had overheard her talking to Aunt Viv as they prepared dinner. The women had whispered in hushed tones, but loud enough for Arthur, creeping outside the kitchen, to hear.  
  
 _“His heart died with Ygraine,”_ Viv had said. _“It’s a shame how he treats the children. Like shadows.”_  
  
His gran had said something he couldn’t quite make out, but then they’d caught him out and clucked at him for spying. Still, Arthur never forgot what he’d heard, even if at the moment he hadn’t really understood it, being only eight. How can your heart die but you still be alive? It didn’t make any sense, because even Arthur knew the heart was what kept you going, pumped the blood through all of those veins and arteries running purple-blue under the skin.  
  
It was a turning point of sorts; after that Christmas, he and Morgana started their monthly trips to Aunt Viv’s, and Arthur learned what it was like to have a mother. Viv herself had never gotten married or had children, but she loved Morgana and Arthur like her own.  
  
 _“Is there something wrong with us,”_ Arthur had asked her on that first visit, _“that makes Father not like to have us around?”_  
  
 _“No, sweet child. There’s nothing wrong with you or your sister. Your father loves you, even if he might not always show it.”_ The words hadn’t the conviction they needed to sound truthful, and sometimes Arthur still wondered if he’d been born differently—was more driven, smarter—maybe he would have pleased his father more. But the fact remained; it had been Ygraine who’d wanted the children, and she had died giving birth to Morgana. Uther never forgave them, or himself. Still, Arthur had always tried to be a proper son, hoping that some day his father would be proud of him.  
  
Arthur didn’t let it bother him anymore. Usually. But some days it did. Some days, if he let himself dwell on it, really dwell, he’d get angry, want to punch a hole in the wall. Like today, when he was hung-over, exhausted, and otherwise miserable.  
  
Arthur showered, washing away the stink of the fire and the residual gross-sticky feeling from spending the night on the bathroom floor in his own sick. He soaped himself, not even bothering to consider a wank, though it’d probably make him feel better. Once he’d cleaned himself enough to stand being inside his own body, he pulled on pyjama bottoms and crawled into bed, craving the oblivion of sleep.  
  


********

Arthur soon learned his father wasn’t letting him off easy after his late night. That afternoon, Uther laid down the ultimatum—uni or the police—and so Arthur spent the remainder of his weekend half-heartedly revising his personal statement and filling out online forms.  
  
He barely had time to talk to Merlin when he’d called to check in, not that Arthur really felt like discussing what had happened. It was too fresh, the thing with Gwen, and Merlin knew him too well to fall for the _I’m fine_ routine. Lance had rung, too, but Arthur hadn’t answered, still ashamed of his behavior. His whole team—er, former team—probably thought he was an arse, but he wasn’t in the mood to fix things quite yet. Of course, after she’d spoken with Gwen, Morgana hadn’t wasted the opportunity to lay into him; Arthur suspected she thought they’d be sisters one day and was annoyed he’d mucked it up.  
  
School on Monday was tense, but as the days passed things grew marginally better. He and Gwen finally had an awkward conversation and decided that, to keep things civil between their mutual friends, they’d agree to tolerate each other. Or rather, Gwen had agreed to tolerate him. Even so, Arthur didn’t feel particularly inclined to the company of the large group. Instead, he found himself sitting with Merlin and his band friends during lunch to avoid the weirdness, though he still hadn’t completely gotten over Merlin’s revelation, either.  
  
About two weeks after the party, Arthur and Merlin were on their way home after school. November had turned unusually cold; there were even a few snowflakes in the air, which Merlin loved. He walked with his head tilted back, mouth open.  
  
“I wouldn’t eat that,” Arthur said. “It’s toxic.”  
  
Merlin righted his head and shrugged. “You’re such a pessimist lately, Arth.” Arthur got an elbow to the ribs.  
  
“Sorry,” Arthur said. He tilted his head and let a flake fall into his mouth.  
  
“Is stuff with Gwen . . . is it okay? She seems better.”  
  
“Yeah, she does.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just . . . I finally applied, you know, for a few courses.”  
  
“Really?” Merlin skipped ahead a few paces, turning round to face Arthur. “Where?”  
  
“St. John’s, ‘cause it’s here, you know, it’d be easy. Manchester. Leeds. I put Edinburgh as first choice, but it’s a long shot. I should have applied with everyone else. But I don’t know, maybe I’ll get in through clearing.”  
  
“Edinburgh was _my_ first choice.”  
  
“I know.” For some reason he couldn’t account for, Arthur’s face grew warm. He’d known Merlin wanted to go to the University of Edinburgh for Computer Science; they had a great reputation and Merlin’s computer studies teacher knew some of the faculty.  
  
“Well, that would be great. Hey, we could get a flat!”  
  
Arthur’s embarrassment faded, pleased that Merlin seemed pleased. “Yeah, but I doubt I’ll get in. And even so, we’d never be able to afford our own flat. We’d be living in halls for sure.”  
  
“You never know, maybe we could find a cheap place. And I might not get in either.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “Right.”  
  
“It would be brilliant,” Merlin said, throwing his arms open. He nearly tripped over a bump in the sidewalk, turned back around. “We could take Scotland by storm. Drink whiskey. Lots of gingers, though.” Merlin wrinkled his nose. “We’d have to look out for each other.”  
  
“I’m one step away from a ginger, you know. My aunt’s a ginger.”  
  
“Nah, you’re not. You’re . . .” Merlin trailed off, turned away. “You’re really not. You’re more like a Viking.”  
  
“Thanks, mate.” Arthur grinned. It didn’t sound so bad, university in Scotland. He’d be close to Aunt Viv, and it would be better than staying another year in his father’s house. Certainly better than joining the police. “Don’t tell Gwen, though,” he continued. “She’ll go mental if she finds out I’m applying after all that happened.”  
  
“Yeah, okay, I get it.” Merlin was still smiling. “So, are you like, happy about this? ‘Cause I know you didn’t want to go just yet.”  
  
Arthur shrugged, kicked at a few loose leaves on the sidewalk. The snow had begun falling more heavily, and the afternoon was quickly darkening. “I can’t think of anything else to do.”  
  
“I mean, I know your knee isn’t better yet but isn’t it possible—”  
  
“I doubt it. The thing’s fucked,” Arthur said, cutting him off. He knew exactly what Merlin was going to say, but every time he ran, it hurt like a bitch. “In any case, that was just a stupid dream. I need to think practically.”  
  
“That’s your dad talking.”  
  
“Well, maybe he’s right.”  
  
Merlin sighed, obviously deciding whether to press the issue. “Okay . . . But you do know uni’s not the only choice?”  
  
“I could get a job but I’d have to live at home, at least for a bit. I want to leave, Merls.”  
  
Merlin scowled at the ground, the tips of his ears red from the cold. Arthur took off his own hat and tugged it down on Merlin’s head, tucking his ridiculous ears inside. Merlin batted his hands away with a blush.  
  
“You can come with me anyway, if you want,” Merlin said. “We could still share a flat and go halves on the rent. You could do something else until you figure it out.” He said it casually, but Arthur’s heart sped up at the thought—it sounded so freeing.  
  
“I thought you weren’t sure you’d get in,” Arthur pointed out, elbowing his friend in the ribs.  
  
“Fuck, ouch.” Merlin rubbed at his side, all bones. They got to a major junction and waited to cross, neither of them saying anything. But from the look on Merlin’s face, he had something on his mind.  
  
“Thanks,” Arthur said, “I appreciate that. I mean . . . yeah. Thanks.” As they neared their neighborhood, the streets grew quieter, less trafficked. Those same familiar houses Arthur had passed almost every day since he could walk or ride a bike. He was sick, sick of them. Their sameness, the stagnant air that hung between them, neighbors all knowing each other’s business. Arthur tugged his coat around him more tightly.  
  
“So, about what I said at Gwen’s on Guy Fawkes,” Merlin said, jarring Arthur out of his musing. “About,” he blew out a breath “ . . . about liking someone.”  
  
“Yeah?” Arthur’s stomach twisted, remembering.  
  
“I wasn’t taking the piss. You really don’t know him.” The words came out in a rush, and Arthur inhaled sharply, trying to corral his shock.  
  
“Oh,” Arthur said. He’d started to think maybe Merlin would never tell him anything else, and had been more convinced than ever it was someone he knew. “So . . . are you, like, dating?”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve gone out.” Merlin looked straight ahead as he spoke, not at Arthur.  
  
“Oh,” Arthur said again, feeling like a broken record. “Since when?”  
  
“Only a couple of times. I didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t work out, you know. But yeah, his name is Leon,” Merlin said. “He goes to York.”  
  
“They have sixth form?”  
  
“No,” Merlin said, glancing ahead. “I meant uni. He’s a second year.”  
  
“But he’s . . . old,” Arthur said, mouth moving though he wasn’t sure he was in control.  
  
“Yeah, I know. It’s just two years, though. Not that much. I met him at a concert a couple months back, but nothing happened. I mean, not right away. I think maybe he thought I was too young.”  
  
 _You_ are _too young,_ Arthur wanted to say, but didn’t. He gritted his teeth and listened as Merlin prattled on about a movie they’d seen the night before. Arthur smiled, nodding, though his insides were in chaos. So Merlin was really serious about the gay thing. Wow. He was going on dates with some guy, some Leon.  
  
Merlin trailed off, took off Arthur’s hat and tossed it back. “Sorry. I’m making you feel weird.”  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
“You should see your face, Arth,” Merlin said, letting out a weak laugh. “You look like I just told you I’ve been drowning kittens in my spare time. And you’re practically running away.”  
  
He slowed, realising he’d started walking faster without really meaning to. “Fuck, no. I’m not . . . I’m sorry. It’s just Gwen, and I was just thinking of that yeah, and some other stuff. I’m happy for you. You seem really happy.”  
  
“I am. I mean, it’s still really new. But I like him. He’s into computers and stuff so, yeah, we have a lot in common.”  
  
They’d come to the junction where Merlin’s street diverged, both standing awkwardly on the corner.  
  
Arthur hoisted his bag further up his shoulder. “That’s ace. I mean, if he’s nice. Is he nice?”  
  
Merlin laughed. “Yeah, he’s really nice.” Smile fading, he cocked his head.  
  
“Brilliant,” Arthur said, nodding vehemently and smiling. Perhaps too vehemently. He made a concerted effort to stop with the nodding.  
  
“I wanted to tell you because it seemed like . . . before, I mean, you seemed to want to know what was going on with me. Or whatever. So anyway, that’s it. I don’t have to talk about it anymore.”  
  
“No,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin’s coat. It was soft, puffy down, and he could feel Merlin’s delicate wrist under the layers. “I mean, thanks, for trusting me and . . . stuff. I think it’s good.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, better a college bloke, right? Probably less hassle.”  
  
Merlin smiled, patted Arthur’s arm. “Yeah, so far.”  
  
“Not a ginger?”  
  
“Nope. Well, kinda.”  
  
“Oh, you’re already breaking your own rules,” Arthur joked, but inside he felt hollow.  
  
They said their goodbyes, and Arthur watched Merlin walk away. The snow was falling much faster now, huge, thick flakes wetting his hair and catching in his eyelashes. He brushed them away and stared as Merlin disappeared down the drive to his house.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

  
Arthur was the first to arrive at York Castle and found himself engulfed by a swarm of Australian tourists, each complaining loudly about the cold. He resisted the urge to make a snide remark about holidaying in northern England in December, but the tour guide beat him to it, much more nicely than he would have done. Ignoring the girl jabbering next to him ( _I’m so confused! So here in York a gate is a street and a bar is a wall and a pub is a bar?_ ), he crossed his arms and scanned the entrance, feeling unsettled.  
  
Leon was from London and had never been on a ghost tour, so Merlin had come up with the idea that the three of them should go. It would be a great way for Arthur and Leon to get to know each other, he’d argued; plus, ghost tours were so stupid they could have a laugh. Arthur had to go along with it in the end, since Merlin had been trying to get him to meet Leon for weeks, and he’d all but run out of excuses.  
  
Finally, just as he thought he was about to be stood up by his best mate and his best mate’s . . . what—boyfriend?—Merlin appeared with another bloke in tow, scanning the crowd for Arthur. He waved, grinning, and practically skipped over.  
  
“Arth,” Merlin said. “This is Leon. Leon, this is my mate Arthur.”  
  
“Hi,” Leon said, offering his hand. Arthur shook it, trying not to stare. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but Leon didn’t seem gay at all. Did gay men usually have beards and wear army coats? And he looked old—this guy was at university? He could have been thirty. Next to him, Merlin seemed so young.  
  
“Hello,” Arthur said. “Nice to meet you.” Leon’s grip was firm—almost too firm—so Arthur squeezed harder, fighting a grimace.  
  
“So you’re the famous Arthur? Merlin’s told me so much about you.” Leon’s eyes crinkled at the sides as he glanced toward Merlin, who blushed, obviously embarrassed.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said, thrusting his hands back in his pockets. His mind raced with contradictory feelings: the need to be polite, for Merlin’s sake, and the need to make sure this bloke would never, ever fuck with Merlin.  
  
“I’ve only told him the bad things, of course,” Merlin joked, breaking the tension.  
  
“You arse.”  
  
Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but just then the tour guide called their attention with a sonorous, “Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to York’s original and most popular ghost tour. Congratulations on your good taste. I’m your host, Sir Alvarr, and tonight we’ll be visiting the most haunted sites of yore . . .”  
  
After hearing about the pogrom that left 150 Jews murdered in the castle keep (their ghosts still roved on cloudless nights, according to their tour guide, who tipped his top hat in homage), they meandered through the city at the rear of the crowd, pausing at various places to hear embellished fictional stories, and some historical ones, which the Australian tourists ate up.  
  
“So, you’re from London,” Arthur said as the group turned down a cobbled alley. Leon wasn’t a very talkative guy, but he seemed nice enough. “You a Gooner?”  
  
“Yep, born and raised.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “Arsenal’s mucking it up this year, though, mate.”  
  
“I know,” Leon said, sighing. Arthur tried to ignore the way that Merlin’s hand had casually slipped into Leon’s, as if Arthur wasn’t there at all. It was odd, seeing two blokes holding hands. Unsettling.  
  
“You think they should get rid of Wenger?” he asked, because this was a subject he knew. It was safe to talk about football and not think about how Merlin and Leon were walking down the gates of York holding hands where anyone could see them, where Arthur’s father could see them, or any one of their mates.  
  
“Nah, he’s been a good manager. It’s the players; they’re asleep on the field. Drives me bloody insane.”  
  
Arthur smirked. “Maybe it’s just not your year.”  
  
“I should have known; Man City, right?”  
  
“Born and raised,” Arthur parroted back.  
  
“Ugh, I knew if I got you two together this would happen,” Merlin complained, but he was smiling at Arthur.  
  
“You play at all?” Arthur asked Leon.  
  
“I did a bit back in secondary; tore my ACL, though, and never got back into it. You?”  
  
“Actually, I—”  
  
“Another thing you have in common!” Merlin clapped Arthur on the back with his free hand. “Arth’s a great mid, Leon. You should see him on the pitch. Bloody brilliant.”  
  
“Used to be,” Arthur said, feeling his face heat.  
  
“Ah, but you’re young, yeah? You can still get back in the game.”  
  
“That’s what I always say,” Merlin agreed.  
  
Even though they were talking to Arthur, Merlin and Leon were staring at each other, grinning like twats. And then Merlin leaned over and whispered something close to Leon’s ear that sounded like “would love to see _you_ play,” making Arthur’s stomach curdle. He didn’t say much after that, pretending to listen to the dramatic antics of Sir Alvarr while Merlin and Leon chatted until they stopped at Micklegate Bar.  
  
“And here on this very spot stands the tower where Richard the Third imprisoned his young nephews, rivals to his throne. They say the ghosts of the dead princes walk the corridors and haunt the gates at night, seeking vengeance . . .” the guide droned on, sweeping his cape over his shoulder, but Merlin was laughing at something Leon had said, poking him in the side.  
  
Arthur had begun to feel decidedly like a third wheel.  
  
When the tour was over, Leon asked if they’d like to come back to his flat for a drink, but Arthur declined. Merlin went along, though, and told Arthur he’d see him later. As the two of them walked away, Arthur almost regretted not going. He needed to find out more about Leon; sure, he seemed nice enough, but something about him rubbed Arthur the wrong way. It made no sense because Leon had been nothing but cordial. Still, Arthur couldn’t rid himself of the nagging displeasure. Maybe it was because Leon was an Arsenal fan. And he _had_ grasped Arthur’s hand more tightly than necessary. Finally, Arthur decided it was okay to secretly dislike Leon as long as he never let on to Merlin.  
  
********

  
“So, I invited Leon to your party,” Merlin said. “I hope that’s okay.”  
  
“Oh, really, fine by me, mate. Yeah,” Arthur said. He glanced around the kitchen at Morgana and Viv, who were busy making breakfast while Arthur pretended to revise for his end-of-term exams. Really, he’d been playing games on his mobile for the past hour until Merlin had rung. Viv pretended not to listen, but he could almost see her ears perk up when Merlin called, so Arthur escaped to his aunt’s living room for more privacy.  
  
He’d been surprised Merlin had phoned, honestly, since during the weekends Merlin had been spending less time with Arthur and more time with Leon. Not that Arthur was jealous, because he wasn’t. It was just odd that Merlin, who’d always been such a conscientious friend, didn’t seem to notice he’d been a bit on the absent side.  
  
“Okay, good,” Merlin was saying, “I just wanted to clear it with you, since it’s your eighteenth and all.”  
  
“I figured you’d bring him.” Arthur tried to maintain a neutral tone. Over the last couple of months, Leon had become a regular fixture in their group, and Merlin had been more open about his sexuality around college. It was no secret he and Leon were a couple, and while talk ran the spectrum from surprise to derision, most students had taken it in stride. Some even seemed pleased, especially Gwaine, who made lewd eyes at Merlin when he thought no one was looking. In any case, it was shocking, this relatively easy acceptance from his friends when the discovery had been such a complete upheaval for Arthur.  
  
Merlin didn’t let the talk bother him, outwardly at least. And if it did, he never said anything to Arthur about it.  
  
“So . . . are you having a good time?” Merlin asked, his voice a bit strained, as if he was searching for something to say.  
  
“Yeah. I guess. We’re having breakfast, going out in a bit. What are you up to?”  
  
“Oh, nothing. Probably see a film or something tonight.”  
  
“With Leon?” Arthur asked, his voice sounding edgy even to his own ears.  
  
“Uh. Yeah. Why, does that bother you?”  
  
“No. Not at all. You have fun.”  
  
“All right. I will. I guess I’ll talk to you later, Arth.”  
  
Arthur swallowed. “Sure. Talk to you later.”  
  
But they didn’t talk later. And Arthur barely saw Merlin outside of college. And the worst part about it was Merlin didn’t even seem to notice.

 

********

  
Arthur’s birthday pub of choice was filled to capacity when Arthur arrived with Gwaine at around nine; all the crowd was already there—Gwen, Lance, Percy, Merlin (and of course Leon), even Elyan, who’d finally decided to forgive Arthur for being an arse to his sister.  
  
Arthur found himself surrounded by well-wishers, including a few girls from school who hadn’t been shy about expressing their interest. Elena was clearly into him and seemed nice enough, but Arthur wasn’t really in the mood to date, or even have a one-off. Still, he didn’t object when she laid a birthday kiss on his cheek and bought him a drink.  
  
“Having fun?” Merlin asked when Elena left to go to the loo with a friend. He was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, though Leon was right behind him, hand on his waist. For a moment Arthur considered telling to Leon to fuck off out of his party.  
  
“Yeah, and you?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“Not my favorite pub, but it’s decent,” Leon said.  
  
The comment made Arthur bristle. “Oh, yeah? Where do you uni blokes prefer?”  
  
“We usually go to the Hole.”  
  
“Ah, such a good hipster,” Arthur said. The Hole was a real local, frequented by mostly old men and a crowd of uni kids who thought they were being ironic, while The Gold Signet was popular with tourists and a younger, livelier crowd. That was why Arthur had picked it.  
  
Arthur downed the rest of his pint, and an unknown benefactor promptly thrust another into his hand. He drained half in one go.  
  
“Whoa, Arth,” Merlin said, reaching out and touching his arm.  
  
“I’m supposed to get pissed, aren’t I?”  
  
“Sure, as long as we don’t have a repeat of Bonfire Night.” Merlin said, giving Arthur a knowing nudge. They both laughed, and it felt good until Leon whispered something in Merlin’s ear and the joke became theirs. Arthur finished his pint.  
  
After that, Arthur determined he was going to have a _Good Time_ , whether or not he talked to Merlin. He made an effort to be charming, smiled at the girls he talked to, got louder as he got drunker. No one could touch him; he was eighteen and brilliant, and he bloody well would have another drink if he wanted.  
  
Everything was fine until Arthur spied Merlin and Leon in the corner of the pub away from the rest of the group. Leon’s hands were all over Merlin, and Merlin seemed to be enjoying it, leaning into the touches, cuddling up to Leon like he was the most interesting man in the world. And he’d barely spoken a word to Arthur all night. Arthur stared, gripped the glass in his hand.  
  
Merlin must have felt he was being watched; he raised his head and caught Arthur’s gaze, confusion crossing over his features.  
  
“What’s crawled up your arse, Pendragon?” Percy asked, slinging his huge arm around Arthur’s shoulders.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
He turned away so Percy wouldn’t see where he’d been looking.  
  
“You should be chatting up one of the birds. What about that one?” Percy gestured over toward Elena.  
  
“Yeah, you’re right.”  
  
Soon he found himself led over to Elena under Percy’s guidance. She looked surprised and pleased to see him, batting her eyes and putting her hand on his arm. He tried to get interested, but he kept getting distracted by the mascara on her lashes; they clumped together like spiders’ legs, and her perfume smelled too sweet, like rotten fruit. Still, feeling the effects of the alcohol, Arthur leaned into her and ran his hand along her bare arm, a fake smile plastered onto his face.  
  
“I didn’t think you were into me,” Elena said, nuzzling a kiss into Arthur’s neck. “What changed?”  
  
“I . . .”  
  
A tap on his shoulder made him whirl around, coming face to face with Merlin, Leon not far behind.  
  
“I think we’re headed out, mate,” Merlin said. “It’s near closing anyway.”  
  
“Figures,” Arthur replied, brushing off Merlin’s touch.  
  
Merlin recoiled, his hand hanging in midair before dropping to his side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Nothing.” The word came out sounding like a curse.  
  
“You obviously have something to say to me.”  
  
Arthur crossed his arms, sloshing his drink on the floor as he did. “Just that I haven’t seen you all night. Too _busy_ to talk to me.” He levelled a glare at Leon.  
  
“I could say the same of you,” Merlin shot back, his eyes drifting to Elena.  
  
“Whatever, Merlin. You haven’t come up for air.”  
  
Even in the dim light of the pub Arthur could see Merlin’s face redden, whether from embarrassment or anger he didn’t know.  
  
“Sorry it _bothers_ you so much for me to kiss my boyfriend. Though apparently it’s fine for you to make out with some girl you barely know.” From behind him, Elena huffed indignantly, but Arthur ignored her. “I thought we were over the double standards, but I guess not.”  
  
“That’s not the point,” Arthur said. “It’s just that I—”  
  
“So it’s okay if I’m gay as long as I keep it secret, right?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I’m—”  
  
“Everything okay over here?” Leon was there, intrusive as ever, his arm around Merlin’s waist. “Merlin?”  
  
The concern in his voice, his protective stance, filled Arthur with quiet rage. As if he would ever hurt Merlin. Merlin was his fucking friend and Leon could bugger off.  
  
“This is a private conversation, and it’s really none of your damn business.”  
  
“It is my business if you’re bothering Merlin.”  
  
Arthur threw his hands up in disbelief; by now they were drawing attention to themselves.  
  
“Leon, he’s just pissed. Let me talk to him,” Merlin said.  
  
Leon’s jaw clenched, but he backed off. Still fuming, Arthur let Merlin lead him out of the pub and into the street, where he nearly stumbled over uneven cobblestones. His head was fuzzy and the beer sloshed in his stomach—definitely shouldn’t have had that last pint. The cold air felt good on his face after the murky claustrophobia of the pub, though, and he took a few deep breaths.  
  
“You’re a real arsehole when you’re drunk, Arthur, you know that?” Merlin backed him up against the wall, face livid.  
  
“Maybe I am, but maybe not. I mean, he seems all nice, but do you even know this guy?” Arthur asked. He put his arm out to steady himself against the side of the building.  
  
“Yeah. I fucking know him. We’ve been going out for three months. I see him all the time.”  
  
“I’m aware of that.” The sarcasm couldn’t be missed.  
  
Merlin frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means I never see you anymore. You’re _always_ with him.”  
  
Merlin’s mouth dropped open, his brows drawing together. “Yeah, well, maybe I am. It’s nice to be wanted . . . to have a boyfriend. You used to take off all the time with Gwen, if I remember correctly . . .”  
  
Arthur started to protest, but even as he did he knew Merlin was right. Especially in the early days, there had been times when Arthur broke plans with Merlin to hang out with Gwen, assuming Merlin would understand. Taking him for granted because they’d been best mates.  
  
“You never said anything,” Arthur replied, feeling stupid.  
  
“Yeah, well I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. I knew you were happy, so . . .”  
  
Merlin’s voice had gotten softer, but it was like a kick in the gut. Arthur was so bloody selfish, wasn’t he? He couldn’t even be happy that his friend had found someone he liked; he was such a fucking arse. But he couldn’t help it—it was still there, the anger, venomous and mean. Merlin was _his_ friend, his best friend, and no one, not Leon, not anyone, was going to take his place. He lifted his head, and Merlin was staring at him so intently, Arthur had to look away.  
  
“You like him more than you like me.” He couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth; it was like something a bloody five year old would say.  
  
The laugh that came out of Merlin bordered on hysterical. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about right now, and fuck, I’m . . .”  
  
“Lads!” Gwaine called, coming around the corner. “There you are. Everyone’s worried you two stumbled off and got murdered.” He looked from Arthur to Merlin. “Or maybe murdered each other. Or . . .” There was something on Gwaine’s face that suddenly made Arthur terribly uncomfortable.  
  
“Nah, we’re finished here,” Arthur said, backing away from Merlin. He hadn’t realised he was standing so close.  
  
“Right. All sorted, then? The pub’s closing and I’m headed home. Wanna lift? I've got room for one more.”  
  
“Are you drunk?” Merlin asked him.  
  
“No, I’m being responsible and all that shite. It’s bloody awful.”  
  
“Okay, well,” Merlin said, crossing his arms and backing further away. “You take Arthur home. I’m going with Leon.”  
  
“All right, cheers,” Gwaine said, clapping Arthur on the arm. “Let’s go say our goodbyes, you tosser.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a bloody idiot,” Arthur said, glaring at the both of them. “I’ll walk home.”  
  
“It’s cold, Arth,” Merlin said. “Go with Gwaine.”  
  
“Nah.” Arthur had already started to move. “I feel like walking. It’ll sober me up.”  
  
He turned away and started heading down the narrow lane, willing himself not to trip because he could feel Merlin and Gwaine’s eyes boring holes into his back. He could hear them talking, too, probably about him.  
  
It turned out that perhaps Arthur should have gone with Gwaine after all. Just as he turned the corner he stopped dead in his tracks. There, not twenty paces off, Gwen and Lance were snogging each other’s faces off on the corner next to Boots; the bright florescence left no doubt. Arthur’s stomach lurched uncomfortably, but he couldn’t look away from Lance’s hands threaded through Gwen’s hair, cupping her face. From the way they were holding each other, this was not a new development. They seemed perfectly at ease, perfectly happy, smiling at each other. How could he have been so blind?  
  
Arthur’s face burned; he turned before they noticed him and took the long way home.

 

********

  
“How long have you known about Lance and Gwen?” Arthur demanded of his sister the next day. He’d finally made it out of bed, still suffering from an epic hangover, and found her downstairs doing her coursework.  
  
Morgana frowned. “How’d you find out?”  
  
“Saw them snogging last night.” The memory made his head throb even more—how bloody happy they’d appeared. Gwen had never looked at him like that.  
  
“It’s only been going on a couple of weeks. She was going to tell you, but—”  
  
“Does everyone else know?”  
  
“Well . . .”  
  
“Aww, sod it.”  
  
Morgana gave him a sympathetic smile and slid over her plate of biscuits. “ _You_ broke up with _her_ , Arthur. Right?”  
  
“Yeah. I know. It’s just . . .” Seeing them together. His fight with Merlin. Bloody hangovers. Everything. He dunked a biscuit in Morgana’s tea and took a bite, suddenly starving.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how. I’m surprised Merlin didn’t . . .”  
  
Still, why hadn’t Merlin told him about Gwen and Lance if he knew? Some friend, letting him find out by himself and on his birthday to boot. “Yeah, well he doesn’t give a toss about me anymore, so.”  
  
“I doubt that’s true,” Morgana said. “Merlin loves you.”  
  
Arthur scoffed, but the words made his insides twist. “Right.”  
  
“Oh Arthur,” Morgana said, pushing her chair back and fixing him with a hard stare. “Sometimes you’re so oblivious.”  
  
The next few days were filled with exams, and Arthur spent a lot of time moping around, feeling sorry for himself when he wasn’t at college. He figured he deserved it, abandoned by his best friend, his former girlfriend, everyone. Add the awkwardness with Elena caused by his arseholish behavior at the pub, and it was pretty much the worst week of his life.  
  
“Hi,” Merlin said one day, sitting down next to him at lunch. They hadn’t really spoken since their fight at Arthur’s birthday, both too stubborn to make the first move. Merlin’s sudden presence caused a riot of conflicting emotions within him; he was still angry, but it was a relief to see Merlin and hear his voice. He watched as Merlin unpacked his sandwich—marmite from the smell of it—and took a bite.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
They sat in silence for a while as the rest of the group finished their lunches and drifted away in pairs or one-by-one, until Merlin and Arthur were alone. For some reason, Arthur no longer felt hungry. He picked at his food, moving it around with his fork, not knowing what to say.  
  
Merlin looked . . . different. He was wearing more fitted clothes, for one, but it was something in his demeanor, a light from within that made him seem brighter. Probably because of Leon. Maybe it was love. Arthur pushed down the bitter feelings that arose with the thought.  
  
“So, are you going to say sorry or what?” Merlin asked after he’d polished off his last bite.  
  
Arthur frowned. “I don’t know. Are you?”  
  
“What did _I_ do?”  
  
“You never told me about Gwen and Lance,” Arthur said. As he spoke, his eyes drifted over to the table where his ex-girlfriend and former friend sat, holding hands and smiling at each other instead of eating.  
  
“I didn’t know.” Merlin leaned forward and squeezed Arthur’s arm. “Honestly. I mean, I suspected he liked her but I didn’t know it had gone further than that.”  
  
“Oh,” Arthur replied, mostly convinced Merlin was telling the truth. After all, he’d been sort of checked-out of their group since he’d gotten a boyfriend.  
  
Merlin sighed. “I’m sorry about that, though. Are you . . . okay?”  
  
“I guess. It’s not like I expect her not to have a life.”  
  
Merlin snorted and removed his hand.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s _exactly_ what you expect. From me, Gwen, everyone. It all revolves around you, doesn’t it?”  
  
Arthur tried to channel indignation, but couldn’t. Merlin had a point, after all; he’d felt it that night at his party, the desire to keep Merlin for himself, his friend alone.  
  
“Sorry, you’re right. I really _am_ happy that you’re happy; I guess I just miss . . . you know, hanging out.” He stabbed at the jacket potato he’d only partially eaten.  
  
“I miss that, too,” Merlin said quietly. When Arthur looked up, Merlin’s eyes had grown soft. “And I’m sorry I’ve neglected our friendship.”  
  
“Thanks,” Arthur said, looking away and swallowing the lump in his throat. Only with Merlin could he ever be like this, totally sincere, and not worry Merlin thought he was stupid. “I’m sorry I was a twat to you at my party.”  
  
“Yeah. You were a twat. But I kind of was, too.”  
  
“You did save me, though,” Arthur said. “Who knows what would have happened with Elena if you didn’t come over when you did.”  
  
Merlin wrinkled his nose. “What _was_ that, anyway? She doesn’t really seem like your type.”  
  
“She’s not. I was just doing it to make you jealous.” Arthur didn’t realise the ramifications of the words until they were already out of his mouth. Merlin’s face paled, his mouth partly opened in confusion.  
  
“I just meant because you weren’t talking to me, so . . .” Arthur flushed as his traitorous mind replayed that awkward moment in Merlin’s room.  
  
“Okay, yeah. I get it.”  
  
“How are things with you and Leon?” Arthur asked, dying to change the topic. Merlin shifted next to him, body growing rigid.  
  
“Fine.” There was a neutrality to his tone that Arthur couldn’t quite decipher, but no way was he going to press for details.  
  
“Oh. That’s . . . brill.” Another awkward silence followed, during which Arthur’s brain was working overtime. Merlin probably didn’t want to talk to Arthur about Leon, not after he’d made it so clear he didn’t entirely approve of their relationship. Or maybe there was trouble in paradise.  
  
The thought made his nerves tingle.  
  
“So I was thinking,” Merlin said, “maybe you want to hang out this weekend after my concert? Just us?”  
  
Arthur could have smacked himself; he’d forgotten all about Merlin’s upcoming solo for jazz band, the one he’d been practicing for months. Of course he couldn’t let on it’d slipped his mind; what kind of crap friend was he?  
  
He was biting his bottom lip, as if worried Arthur would say no.  
  
“That sounds like fun, yeah,” Arthur said, smiling. Merlin grinned back, looking so goofy Arthur shoved him.  
  
“Wanker.”  
  
“Arsehole.”

********

  
When Arthur arrived at the auditorium for the show, he recognised a few familiar faces: Gwaine was there, surprisingly, as were Percy, Lance, and Gwen. Instead of sitting alone, Arthur joined the group, taking the empty seat on the other side of Gwen. She offered him a hesitant smile, letting go of Lance’s hand.  
  
“Hey,” he said.  
  
“Hi, Arthur,” she replied.  
  
“Good to see you,” he said. “You know, outside of college. Well, technically we’re in college, but yeah . . .”  
  
“Yeah. You too.”  
  
On the other side of her, Lance gave Arthur a wary nod. At least it was a comfort knowing that everyone was uncomfortable. Arthur shook his head, then turned his attention to the concert program, reading it with more interest than he’d ever been able to muster before. It wasn’t exactly the most impressive reconciliation, but it was a start.  
  
The concert lasted about an hour and featured jazz classics from the forties. Merlin, as usual, was excellent. When he played, his whole face got this intense look, eyes serious, cheeks puffing with each drawn out breath. He improvised a lot, and those were the moments he really shone; Arthur was so proud of him, at the end of the concert he was on his feet before anyone else, clapping enthusiastically.  
  
The rest of his friends filtered out, asking if Arthur wanted to come with for a drink, but Arthur declined the offer.  
  
“Hanging with Merlin tonight,” he said.  
  
“All right, mate,” Gwaine said, giving him a slap on the back. “See ya later.”  
  
“See you later.”  
  
Arthur met Merlin at the side of the stage after he’d finished packing up.  
  
“Where’s Leon?” Arthur asked as he and Merlin made their way to Arthur’s. His father was on call and, with Morgana sleeping at a friend’s, they’d have the whole house to themselves.  
  
Merlin shot him a curious look, then shrugged. “It was his mum’s birthday. He had to go home to London.”  
  
“Ah,” Arthur said. “And are you . . .”  
  
“I told him it was fine, since I was hanging out with you.” Merlin gave Arthur a smile and hoisted his bag further up his shoulder.  
  
“Right. Good.”  
  
Earlier in the day, Arthur had made sure there was plenty of beer and bought a frozen pizza, the kind with fake cheese since Merlin was allergic to the real stuff. He figured Merlin would be hungry after his performance.  
  
Merlin, however, had other plans. As Arthur put the pizza in the oven, Merlin poked him in the shoulder, holding up a spliff.  
  
“Where in hell did you get that?” Arthur asked, surprised. As far as he knew, Merlin had never touched the stuff.  
  
“Where do you think?”  
  
“Gwaine.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“But . . . you’ve never smoked, have you?”  
  
“Nope. I thought it might be fun, though, you know, to try it out. I mean I can’t go to uni as the only person that’s never been high.”  
  
“You think you can handle it, Emrys?”  
  
Though he was talking tough, Arthur wasn’t exactly an experienced smoker himself; he’d done it at a few parties through the years, but he’d never had any of his own. His father would kill him, for one.  
  
“Well, we should probably go outside and smoke it quick in case my father comes back.”  
  
Merlin nodded, suddenly looking nervous. “If I do anything stupid, don’t tell anyone, okay?”  
  
“Like that would be news,” Arthur said.  
  
“Oh, shut it or you don't get any.”  
  
After locating a set of ancient matches in the kitchen, they headed out to the back patio. It was still cold, and Arthur huffed into his hands, warming them in the mid-March night. Merlin bounced around on his feet while Arthur lit the spliff, inhaled, and coughed hard enough to lose a lung.  
  
“Shit,” he said, eyes watering. “That’s harsh.”  
  
“Gwaine said it was bunk. I though that was supposed to be good?” Merlin accepted the spliff like it was a venomous snake.  
  
“Idiot, it’s _skunk_ that’s good. Bunk is, well,” Arthur coughed again, “bunk. How much did he charge you?”  
  
“Ten quid.”  
  
“You should get your money back, mate.”  
  
Merlin’s first inhale was as graceless as Arthur’s, but in-between bouts of coughing, they soon managed to smoke most of the thing, all the while hoping none of the neighbors were outside.  
  
“Is it bad that I can’t feel my feet?” Merlin asked, his eyes glazing over. A giddy, yet relaxed sensation had slowly begun to spread through Arthur’s body. Time felt like it was standing still.  
  
“You’re probably just cold.” He always was; Merlin’s feet and hands were perpetually icy, even in the middle of summer.  
  
“I feel like . . .” Merlin’s eyes drifted over to Arthur, “Like I really want some pizza.”  
  
“Oh shit!” They’d completely forgotten about it. “It’s probably burning. Let’s go, you bloody stoner.”  
  
After gathering their food and the movies, they opted for Arthur’s room instead of the living room, just in case Uther came home and wondered why they were smiling and giggling like idiots. For good measure, Arthur brought a couple beers with them as well.  
  
“You know, when you really think about it, this film is pants,” Arthur concluded.  
  
"Don't think too hard. I wouldn't want you to sprain something."  
  
“The Cyclops is pretty hilarious, but why does he want to help Colwyn?”  
  
"You haven't been paying attention."  
  
"He just sprung out of the bloody air."  
  
Halfway through _Krull_ , they were lying on Arthur's bed making commentary, but Arthur had long lost the thread of the film, which Merlin had begged him to watch, _'cause it's so awful, it's brilliant_. "Where's Colwyn going again?" he asked.  
  
"He's trying to rescue his princess from the aliens."  
  
“I think I missed that part. I can't see anything but those horrible trousers.” Arthur gestured toward the screen, where the hero of the film was sporting a painted-on pair.  
  
Merlin murmured his agreement. “Those are the best part of the movie.”  
  
“You poof,” Arthur teased.  
  
“I think I need a Fire Mare,” Merlin said a few minutes later. “Take you anywhere top speed. Be ace. Just imagine.”  
  
“Yeah, mate, I don’t know about you on a horse.”  
  
“I’ll have you know I can ride perfectly well,” Merlin said, dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Get it? Ride.” Merlin’s shoulder rubbed up against him, and Arthur’s smile faded just as he understood what Merlin meant. He took a swig of his beer to quiet the pounding in his chest.  
  
“Ha,” Arthur said. “Got it. So you’ve done it, then.”  
  
Merlin turned over on his back, hands behind his head. “Does that bother you?”  
  
“Uh. No. I mean, why should it?”  
  
“Dunno. It’s probably strange for a straight bloke to think about. I mean, it’s strange for _me_ to think about.”  
  
Arthur swallowed, feeling a little sick and not knowing why. Still, he asked, “So . . . how was it?”  
  
Merlin blushed. “Do you really want to know?”  
  
“If you want to tell me.”  
  
“To be honest it was kind of awkward at first. And it _hurt._ But after that it was okay. It’s actually brilliant once you get the hang of it.”  
  
So Merlin hadn’t just done it; apparently he’d done it a lot. And Leon had hurt him, the fucking bastard. Arthur looked away from Merlin’s flushed face as he continued.  
  
“The best thing, though, is kissing. It’s so different than being with a girl. Like with Freya, I mean it felt nice, but not anything outstanding. I guess I wondered what all the fuss was about. Maybe it was because I wasn’t totally into her . . . But kissing a bloke is so different, it’s . . .”  
  
Merlin trailed off, and when Arthur looked back at him, there was that strange light in his eyes. A bitter flare of jealousy erupted in the pit of Arthur’s stomach; that look was for Leon, because of Leon’s kisses. And when Merlin licked his bottom lip, Arthur’s mind went blank.  
  
“What’s it like?” he asked hoarsely.  
  
“It’s . . . I can’t describe it.”  
  
“Show me.” He didn’t know why he said it, or whether or not he wanted to take it back once he had. Merlin leaned up on his bent arm, regarding Arthur curiously, like he wasn’t sure what to make of it either.  
  


  
He thought Merlin would say no, but instead he leaned forward very slowly, closing his eyes. The first brush of their lips together was light, and just when Arthur though that would be all, Merlin angled his head and sealed their mouths more firmly. Merlin. He was kissing Merlin.  
  
Arthur exhaled, parting his lips, and then Merlin’s tongue slipped inside his mouth to glide against his own, the kiss deepening. Merlin tasted like pizza and smoke but it was good. Something Arthur wanted more of. He shut off his brain and reached out to grasp Merlin's shoulders, pulling him closer.  
  
Merlin was right; kissing a boy was different than kissing a girl. Merlin’s lips were pliant and soft, but his stubble scratched against Arthur’s chin, the roughness pleasant. There was an aggression behind the action that reminded Arthur of how skilled Merlin was with his trumpet. Merlin tugged on his hair and gasped, breaking away to catch his breath. Just when Arthur thought it was over and the beginnings of panic were setting in, Merlin’s hands glided down his back towards his arse, igniting something at the base of his spine. He kissed Merlin again, all of the anxiety he’d felt in the past few weeks pouring out of him and into the action—the fact that this was Merlin, and a boy, and his best mate, all of those little-huge realities pinged in the back of his mind, but not loud enough to get him to stop. Not when it felt so brilliant.  
  
He’d long forgotten about the film, now half on top of Merlin, gripping his shoulders, and Merlin was kissing him back, winding his arms around to get closer. The fierce need to rut against something grew, but when Merlin’s leg brushed against his erection, Arthur drew back, startled.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, pressing against him harder, head raised to search for Arthur’s mouth. Arthur looked down at his friend.  
  
Too much, it was too much. This was just too much and Arthur couldn’t handle it, couldn’t . . .  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, panting, eyes opening wide.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, pulling away. His cock tented his pyjama bottoms and he flushed, turning to adjust himself. He licked his raw lips. “I shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
“It’s fine.” Merlin said, his voice sounding dead.  
  
“No, it’s not. It’s . . . nothing about this is fine, Merlin.” Arthur snapped, still aroused and furious with himself. Merlin’s lips were kiss-swollen, his own erection a visible bulge in his jeans. Arthur willed himself to look away.  
  
“I should go,” Merlin said.  
  
Arthur didn’t protest, burying his head in his hands as Merlin gathered his things. He didn’t look up until the door clicked shut.


	4. Chapter Four

_We need to talk._  
  
Arthur eyed the text from Merlin. It was the sixth or seventh—Arthur had lost count—and he’d yet to respond to any of them.  
  
The first thing Arthur had done after Merlin had left was take a cold shower, ignoring his erection until it wilted, leaving his balls tight and sore. It hadn’t been easy, fighting the urge to wank; he was horny and the kissing had turned him on . . . but it just seemed so wrong to get off on it . . . on Merlin.  
  
He wasn’t gay. He lay in bed and tried to think about tits and pussy, but his thoughts kept drifting to the day he’d walked in on Merlin wanking. His cock grew hard again, hot against his belly. Arthur cursed himself, dug his fist into his leg to distract himself with pain, but the memory replayed and replayed. The fact that he’d kissed Merlin on his bed just hours before made it impossible to forget. He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been turned on that day. His dick kept him up all night, aching, until he’d finally drifted into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams that featured Merlin’s lips.  
  
In the days that had passed since, Arthur avoided Merlin like the coward he was. He’d managed to create a narrative that explained his arousal as the curiosity of drug-fueled experimentation, but even he knew it was a crap excuse, especially since he hadn’t been able to forget how good kissing Merlin had felt, how much he’d wanted it in the moment. How much it scared the piss out of him.  
  
Of course the situation only worsened a couple mornings later when Arthur, Morgana, and their father sat around the table for breakfast—a rarity for his family, but Morgana had made pancakes. Arthur’s father folded his paper and threw it down with a sigh of disgust.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Morgana asked.  
  
“The Americans; another state allowing gays to marry. Soon they’ll be as bad as us.” He sighed and sipped his coffee. “The world’s changed since I was a young, and not for the better. Next thing you know, people will be marrying their cats and dogs.” He laughed, looked over to Arthur for confirmation. “Am I right?”  
  
The bite of food in Arthur’s mouth went tacky.  
  
“Father,” Morgana said, drawing their father’s attention away. Arthur wanted to drop the topic all together, but his sister seemed to be preparing one of her self-satisfied liberal rants. “I think that’s a ridiculous comparison. Marrying someone of the same sex isn’t the same thing as marrying an animal. Why shouldn’t gay men and women have the same rights as everyone else? I think it’s right, what the Americans are doing.”  
  
The look their father threw her could have iced hell. “Marriage is between a man and a woman. Anything else is an abomination, Morgana,” he said, as if it was the last word on the subject.  
  
Morgana rolled her eyes and gave Arthur a commiserating glance across the table, which most likely was meant in relation to Merlin, not himself. All the same, fear made him lose his appetite altogether. It was almost like she knew what had happened between them, like their father knew. He stood up, chair screeching across the floor, and mumbled something about coursework, heart rattling like it had come unhinged. The panic didn’t subside back in his bedroom; there was another text from Merlin, another missed call.  
  
His hands shook as he read the message again and again.  
  
 _You’re being a twat._  
  
For the first time in his life, he really, really didn’t want to talk to Merlin, and it was horrible. He didn’t want to fuck up their friendship, but what his father had said at the table scared the piss out of him. If he ever found out, he’d never look at Arthur again.  
  
It was hard to know which prospect was worse.  
  
The next week at college was more of the same, Arthur going out of his way to avoid the places he knew Merlin would be; that is, until they ran into each other in the first floor loo.  
  
Merlin was just zipping up when Arthur entered, flushing when he recognised his friend. He must have made a sound, because Merlin turned around, expression going dark when he saw Arthur.  
  
“Nice of you to return my calls,” Merlin said, stalking over to the sinks.  
  
“I was—away,” Arthur said stupidly, watching as Merlin lathered his hands.  
  
Another boy came in, reminding Arthur they were in public. Merlin regarded him grimly line in the mirror above the sinks.  
  
“Do you have a minute?” Arthur asked, nodding toward the door.  
  
“Maybe _one_ minute,” Merlin said.  
  
They both had free time until their afternoon lessons, so Arthur knew Merlin was really arsed.  
  
Neither of them spoke, but they left the school building and walked across toward the pitch. Spring had turned the grass green, erased the chill of winter from the air, and for a moment Arthur was almost happy. Then he glanced at Merlin.  
  
Merlin looked like he hadn’t slept, his hair mussed like it hadn’t been washed. A strange wash of emotion made Arthur unable to speak—was it because of him? Or maybe Leon? Maybe Merlin had spent the night with him and they’d been up . . . Arthur stopped the thought dead in its tracks, but already tendrils of jealousy had begun to curl out of the tight compartment he’d made of his feelings.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t—”  
  
“No. No, Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice angry. “You don’t get to say you’re sorry, not ‘til you hear what I have to say. I _get it_. I get that you got freaked out because God forbid you might have liked kissing me. But if I do recall, it was _you_ who asked _me_. So what was that all about?”  
  
Arthur glanced around, checking to ensure they were alone. His face flamed. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Of course. And I have a boyfriend . . . For the first time in my life I’m not . . .” Merlin paused, trailed off. “Never mind. You don’t even get it, do you, you giant idiot.”  
  
Arthur reeled, thrown by the idea that Merlin and Leon were still together. Of course they were. Why had he expected anything different? Merlin was pulling at his hair, pacing around. “Get what?” he asked.  
  
“Get that I’ve been in love with you for forever, you insensitive prick. And while you’re over there having your little gay crisis you haven’t given a thought to what it might have meant to me. I told Leon that I kissed someone, you know. I told him and he was pissed off. We almost broke up but luckily he’s giving me another chance. Because God knows I was stupid to muck up something good just because you were stoned. And before you go mental, don't worry, I kept your name out of it—”  
  
“Pardon?” Arthur interrupted as he found his voice. Had Merlin just confessed he was in love with Arthur? He reached out and grabbed Merlin’s arm before he could turn away.  
  
Merlin’s eyes widened. He tried to tug out of Arthur’s grip, but Arthur held him fast. “Leon’s giving me another chance?”  
  
“Before that.”  
  
“I’m not saying it again, Arthur, just to stroke your ego.”  
  
“I don’t want you to stroke my fucking ego. I just . . . I never knew that,” Arthur said softly. His mind was reeling; all this time he’d never suspected . . . never in a million years.  
  
Merlin wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Yeah, I know. Because I was careful you’d never find out. Thing about it is our friendship was way more important to me than anything else, so I kept it quiet because I knew that was the only way. But then you had to go and kiss me, you arsehole, as part of some weird high-speriment. I hate you so much.”  
  
“High-speriment?” Arthur muffled an inappropriate laugh; it wasn’t really that funny, he was just feeling a bit hysterical.  
  
“It’s . . .” Merlin scoffed, threw up his hands. “The only way I can describe it. Because it’s not like you have feelings for me. I was just there and you were curious. Whatever, I can’t fault you for that, and I know I shouldn’t have gone along with it. All I mean is that . . .”  
  
Merlin looked up at the sky, sighing, and Arthur followed his gaze. It was a blue, cloudless—a rarity, such a clear spring day. It seemed a mockery, since nothing felt that way to Arthur. He’d never been so confused in his entire life.  
  
“Shit, I would never have . . . I didn’t . . . fuck, to be honest I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“Don’t say anything, then. We can just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? It was just a stupid kiss. We can go back to the way things were. Us being friends.”  
  
Arthur swallowed, regarding his friend’s pleading face. “I don’t think I can.”  
  
“Well that’s just fucking great. I knew this would happen. I knew it.” The bitter laugh that accompanied Merlin’s statement tore the little box of feelings in Arthur’s heart apart, making the stupid things go everywhere. Arthur had grown up grafted to Merlin: two trees with different fruit that shared the same roots, thrived on the same light and water. The thought of living without him was incomprehensible, but he felt like one of the seams that held them together had split under their combined weight. It hurt enough to knock the breath out of him. He’d barely had the chance to regain it before Merlin turned on his heel and stalked away, shoulder’s hunching. A group of younger kids had come onto the pitch and were doing some warm-up stretches, making the distance between them even vaster.  
  
He drew out his mobile and texted _I’m sorry._  
  
Merlin never replied.

********

  
“You never come out any more, mate,” Gwaine said, the complaint clear in his voice. “We’re going on the pull tonight. You need to get your arse in gear and come with.”  
  
Arthur stared at the ceiling of his room. He knew Gwaine was right, that he’d been moping about like a girl for the last couple of weeks, and he had no reason to say no, really.  
  
Except that today he’d received an unexpected and (he felt) probably undeserved acceptance email from the University of Edinburgh and, along with it, the realisation he’d only applied because of Merlin. Merlin, who wouldn’t answer his calls, who he’d seen just the other day cozied up in a coffee shop with Leon.  
  
The jealousy had been bitter and swift, on so many levels Arthur didn’t know what bothered him most. That Leon got to talk to Merlin. That Leon got to sit with Merlin. Fuck it, if he was being honest, that Leon got to kiss Merlin . . . to . . .  
  
Arthur scrubbed his hand across his face and blew out a sigh. “Yeah, all right,” he said. He definitely needed to get out of the house. “Where to?”  
  
“The Hole at nine. I’ll see you then, mate.”  
  
Murmuring his agreement, Arthur hung up, only remembering then he hadn’t even bothered to ask Gwaine if Merlin was coming along; the two of them had gotten friendlier over the past few months, so it was likely. Well, maybe it would be good to see Merlin if he was there; he couldn’t avoid Arthur forever, and if they were in public they’d have to be cordial, at least. The momentary lightening of his mood was cut short by the memory that the Hole was Leon’s favorite spot. If Merlin was there, Leon would be as well, and if Arthur wanted to mend his friendship with Merlin, he’d have to be on his best behavior.  
  
The Hole in the Wall wasn’t as large as some of the other pubs in York, so when it got crowded, there was hardly any place to sit. Arthur arrived to a chorus of halloos, his friends already raucous and halfway pissed.  
  
“Heya, mate!” Gwaine called, motioning him over.  
  
“Budge up.” Arthur squeezed onto the narrow wooden bench beside him with his pint, taking in the crowd. There were four lads from his year and a couple of girls he didn’t know. When Gwaine noticed Arthur looking, he grabbed across the table for one of the girl’s hands and thrust it into Arthur’s, so that they were all three kind of holding hands awkwardly until Gwaine pulled his away.  
  
“Oi, Mithian,” he said. “This here is Arthur. Arth, Mithian.”  
  
She looked confused for a moment, then smiled.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” said Mithian.  
  
“You too,” said Arthur, smiling back before releasing her. “I don’t know I’ve seen you around. How do you know this geezer?” He motioned toward Gwaine, who was in the process of draining his pint.  
  
“I don’t, actually,” she said.  
  
“You wound me!” Gwaine wiped at his face and clutched his heart, eyes rolling dramatically.  
  
“Well, I do _now_ ,” she told him. “Arthur, I’m actually a friend of Leon’s from York,” she explained, looking back over her shoulder and smiling. “He invited us along tonight.” Arthur followed her gaze and that’s when he saw them, Merlin and Leon, standing by the bar. They hadn’t noticed him, or at least weren’t paying the table any attention, enraptured as they were in conversation with each other. There it was again, that uncomfortable surge that made his blood run cold.  
  
“Yes, you know me now, lucky for you. Arthur, have you ever seen a more beautiful creature than Princess Mithian?”  
  
Mithian leaned across the table and swatted Gwaine. “Oh stop. Please.” Then her face sobered. “No. I mean seriously go on.”  
  
Gwaine hooted. “And funny, too! The perfect bird.”  
  
Arthur forced a smile onto his face. He could see what his friend was trying to do, though he didn’t understand why it seemed necessary. He’d just broken up with Gwen, and the last thing he wanted was another girlfriend.  
  
“I’m out of beer,” Gwaine said, nudging Arthur to move. “You two crazy kids get to know each other, yeah?”  
  
Once Gwaine had gone, the silence became awkward. On the other side of the table, Percy was chatting up Mithian’s friend, and Elyan and Lance were engrossed in a conversation that looked serious, leaving Arthur and Mithian to talk alone. It was almost impossible not to watch Merlin and Leon on the other side of the room, but Arthur tore his eyes away.  
  
“So . . .” Mithian said. “You’re at Ealdor with Gwaine?”  
  
“For now, yeah. Uni next year.” He tried to smile again, but even on his face it felt like a grimace.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Oh, I think Edinburgh. Just got the email today.” For the first time since he’d gotten the news, he found himself somewhat enthusiastic about the prospect. She grinned.  
  
“Really? Congratulations! And you know, that’s where Merlin’s going! Are you two friends?”  
  
Arthur was still trying to absorb what Mithian had said as she chattered on about how much she _adored_ Merlin, what a _delightful_ lad he was, how _perfect_ he and Leon were together—obviously she’d spent a good deal of time with him, and yet she didn’t even know he and Arthur were mates. Best mates.  
  
So that was it, all Arthur needed to know. Merlin really didn’t want to be his friend anymore.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Mithian said, smile faltering. “Have I said something wrong?”  
  
“No . . . it’s . . .” Arthur shook his head, feeling sick. “Maybe it was something I ate.”  
  
“Oh, you poor thing!”  
  
“Just . . . excuse me.”  
  
He climbed out from the bench and stood on wobbly legs, wondering which exit he should take before Merlin spotted him; but of course then he noticed Merlin coming toward him. At least there was no Leon in tow. He crossed his arms and stood his ground, irritation mingling with his hurt and disappointment.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin said.  
  
“What?” Arthur snapped. Merlin had no right to be standing there in his turnups and trendy tee, hair all mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed, demanding to know why Arthur was at a pub with his friends.  
  
Merlin bit his lip, but that familiar gesture didn’t soften Arthur’s anger. “I didn’t know you and Leon had the sole rites to visiting this pub. Ex _cuse_ me.”  
  
“But you knew I’d be here tonight. I thought you couldn’t bear to be around me anymore.” Merlin crossed his arms, eyes dark.  
  
Their row was attracting stares from Mithian and, in Arthur’s freshly vacated spot at the table, a cheesed-off looking Leon.  
  
“What are you even talking about?”  
  
“You said on the pitch that we couldn’t be friends anymore.”  
  
Arthur shook his head, confused. “I never said that.” He was racking his brain, trying to remember their conversation, but it was all so foggy, coloured by the emotion of that day.  
  
“You did,” Merlin insisted.  
  
Finally, comprehension dawned. “No,” Arthur said. “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant. I just meant . . .”  
  
Gwaine interrupted him, swinging his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and hanging on, reeking of booze and smoke. “Lads! Talking again are we? Brilliant, brilliant. Anyone up for some billiards?”  
  
“Not now, Gwaine,” Merlin said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Arthur’s face, and Arthur flushed, the confused thoughts returning. It was so easy to imagine kissing Merlin again, running his hands through that messy hair.  
  
“Okay, maybe Princess Mithian will play with me. Mithian!”  
  
Gwaine staggered away, and Merlin glanced toward the table, shook his head. Arthur turned around and was pierced by a stare from Leon. That did it.  
  
“Merlin, come and talk to me for a minute.”  
  
“I don’t think—”  
  
Arthur gripped his arm, filled with renewed urgency. “Merlin.”  
  
Merlin let himself be led outside, and suddenly Arthur remembered the night of his eighteenth birthday, how similar this moment was and how strange that he and Merlin had to resort to awkward conversations in pub alleys.  
  
Once they were alone, Arthur relaxed a bit. Now he could say what he wanted to say. Now—  
  
“I don’t understand,” Merlin said, rounding on him before he could even complete the thought. “I asked you if we could go back to the way we were and you said no. You said it. I wasn’t hearing things.”  
  
Arthur shook his head, advancing on Merlin, so many conflicting feelings running through him. “I know what I said. I _meant_ I didn’t think I could pretend it didn’t happen, not that I didn’t want to be friends. God, you know I do. I just . . . I can’t look at you without remembering—”  
  
“How awful it was. I get it.”  
  
“No.” Arthur shook his head. “No. How good it was, Merlin.” He said the words so softly he wasn’t even sure Merlin had heard him; he wasn’t even sure he wanted Merlin to hear him. All he knew was that he needed to kiss Merlin again, and again . . .  
  
“You’re drunk.”  
  
“I haven’t touched a drop. See?” When he first leaned forward, his only intent was to let Merlin sniff his breath, but somehow he wound up going farther, touching his lips to Merlin’s, reeling from shock as Merlin responded, kissing him back.  
  
He hadn’t imagined it, the desire he felt, it was there again and more consuming than before, making him press Merlin up against the brick facade of the pub, kissing him hungrily, needing to feel the entire length of Merlin’s body against his. Fuck. He’d never gotten so hard so quickly with Gwen, or any other girl for that matter. The thought was worrisome but he pushed it aside, chasing Merlin’s tongue with his own, wanting to dominate his mouth. This time, when his hard-on brushed against Merlin’s hip, he felt only pleasure, only the consuming need for more, closer . . . and oh, God, Merlin was hard, too. It thrilled and frightened him, sending a shiver up his spine that had nothing to do with the night.  
  
Then it was over.  
  
“Stop. Arthur.” Panting, Merlin turned his head away, pushed at Arthur’s shoulders. The reality of the situation crashed down over Arthur like a cold wave. He reeled back.  
  
“I can't . . . My boyfriend's right inside,” Merlin said to himself, touching his fingers to his lips. Then he rounded on Arthur. "What _was_ that?"  
  
“I don’t know. I . . .” Arthur pulled at his hair. He couldn’t do this. How could he do this? But how could he _not_ do this, when it was the most right he’d felt in weeks?  
  
“I don’t know what you want from me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said brokenly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know . . . tell me what to do.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes were luminous in the darkness, beautiful, until Arthur understood they were brimming with tears.  
  
“I’m not a game you can play, okay? I’m a fucking person. And I’m with someone,” Merlin ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. And he doesn’t deserve this either.”  
  
“I know,” Arthur reached out with the intent of pulling Merlin close to him again, but Merlin evaded his grasp. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“I’m going back inside. This—” Merlin said, gesturing between them. “It can’t happen again.”  
  
“I don’t want you to be with him.” The impulsive words hung in the air.  
  
“Do _you_ want to be with me?”  
  
It was a question impossible to answer. Yes, yes he wanted it, but it was impossible with their families and their history and . . .  
  
“See,” Merlin said, as if Arthur’s silence explained everything. Maybe it did.  
  
“Do you love him?” Arthur asked, wishing he could take the question back the moment he asked it.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Arthur stood, mouth gaping like a fish, utterly stupid. What a complete tosser he was.  
  
“Go home, Arthur,” Merlin said, cheeks wet.  
  
So he did.

********

  
They had two weeks off for Easter break, and Arthur went to Edinburgh, this time without Morgana, to check out the university and spend some time with Viv.  
  
He started running again, training his knee and strengthening the muscle now that he’d been given medical clearance. Every day he jogged up to Arthur’s Seat, kicking up dust underneath his trainers and sweating out all of the anxiety of the past year. He ran slowly until his knee ached and he was too tired to think, let alone sort out any of the mess in his head.  
  
One thing, though, became abundantly clear. He wanted Merlin, missed him so much he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened outside the pub, how those words of indecision _I don’t know_ had knocked the air out of his chest. Every day he thought about calling, but to say what? Nothing had changed. He couldn’t be with Merlin. He _wasn’t_ gay. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t be.  
  
If Viv knew something was wrong—which of course she did—she didn’t press, for which Arthur was eternally grateful. They spent their evenings walking through the city, drinking single malt, and talking about politics and sport. Until one day after dinner, when he asked Viv why she’d never married or had any children.  
  
Her face quieted, the laughter in the room dying down. She set her glass of wine aside and looked at him squarely.  
  
“Ah, lad.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve only been in love once in my life, and it didn’t work out.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because your mum married him first.”  
  
The blood drained from Arthur’s face, pooling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“My father?”  
  
Viv nodded, looked away, flushing.  
  
“But how could you . . . how could you love him?” Arthur thought of his father with his closed-off heart.  
  
She just smiled and shrugged. “I suppose the heart wants what it wants.”  
  
“And you never . . . did you ever tell him?”  
  
Viv shook her head, her face seeming so much older when she frowned. “I’d never have done it to Ygraine. And for him, there was only her.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing he could think to say, but still the words sounded hollow.  
  
“Oh, my boy. That’s all in the past now; no need to feel sorry for me. You’re so young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Just don’t waste it with regrets. Sometimes I think, ah . . .” She smiled, patted Arthur’s knee. “That’s something for another time. Shall we have a bit more wine?”  
  
The next morning Arthur went for a long run thinking about his parents, his aunt and her confession. If she’d wound up with his dad, he and Morgana wouldn’t even be here. He thought of Merlin.  
  
By the time he made it back to Viv’s, he was covered with sweat, dying for a drink of water and a shower.  
  
“Arthur?” Viv called as he shut the door and kicked off his trainers. “Is that you?”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
She rounded the corner, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her slim waist. “Your mobile rang while you were out. Several times.” Her eyes twinkled. “Appears someone wants to get in touch.”  
  
Heart beating faster, Arthur headed to the kitchen where he’d left his phone on the counter. Three missed calls, all from Merlin’s number. No messages.  
  
“I did peek to see who it was,” she said. “Why don’t you go give him a call while I finish up with lunch?”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said, mouth dry. If Merlin had called . . . hell, he didn’t know what it meant. They hadn’t spoken since that night at the pub.  
  
Putting all thoughts from his mind before bottling out, Arthur went to his room and returned the call.  
  
“Arthur? This is Hunith.”  
  
“Hi,” he said, confused. “Is everything okay? Um. I got some calls from Merlin.”  
  
“It wasn’t he who called, dear, it was me. And no, it’s not okay.” She sighed, and Arthur’s confusion morphed into full-blown panic. “I know you and Merlin haven’t been as close lately, and I don’t pretend to know why. But whatever it is, I hope you’ll put your differences aside for now and come over to ours as soon as you can. Merlin needs you.”  
  
“What happened?” Arthur demanded, already throwing items into his bag. “Is Merlin okay?”  
  
“Merlin’s father is dead,” Hunith said, voice breaking on the last word.  
  
“Oh my God. How? When?”  
  
“He left a note . . .”  
  
Shit. Suicide? Arthur felt he might be sick.  
  
“I’m in Scotland. I’ll be on the next train.”


	5. Chapter Five

Riding the train back to York, Arthur leaned his head against the glass and tried to sleep, an impossible task, not only because the bloke next to him was snoring. He hadn’t given himself a moment to think before he’d left his aunt’s—just quickly showered and packed his bags, told her the short version, and headed to the train station. Now that he had a few hours to kill, he had plenty of time to imagine what would happen when he arrived at Merlin’s. It was quite possible, even likely, that Merlin’s mum had been wrong and Merlin wouldn’t want to see him, given what’d happened between them. In any case, Leon probably had it all under control.  
  
The thought set Arthur’s teeth on edge.  
  
He sighed and shifted in his seat, knocking his leg into his sleeping neighbour, who said something in his sleep and smacked his lips before dozing off again.  
  
Almost eight years had passed since Balinor had left, and though Arthur didn’t remember much about Merlin’s dad, he remembered how hard Merlin had taken it.  
  
Arthur hadn’t known the reason why Merlin had been absent from school, but then Hunith had showed up at his house and talked to Uther, wanting to know if Arthur could come over and distract her son. Arthur had listened from behind the half-wall that divided the kitchen from the living room as Hunith whispered in hushed tones about Merlin’s refusal to come inside while it was still light, waiting on the front steps until it grew dark and she had to force him.  
  
They’d only been kids, but Arthur had felt responsible that day; he’d shown up to confront a solemn Merlin sitting in front of his house, eyes scanning the street hopefully every time he heard a car, only to fall again when it wasn’t Balinor’s.  
  
 _“Mum call you over?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Um, yeah. But I would have come anyway. I’m really sorry about your dad, Merls.”  
  
Merlin shook his head. “He’ll be back.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Arthur took a seat next to Merlin, not knowing what to say. For while they just sat there; Arthur wished he was better at this.  
  
“He said he loved me. But I don’t know if that’s true. Because if you love someone, you’re not supposed to bugger off, are you?”  
  
Arthur threw his arm around Merlin’s, alarmed when Merlin started to cry in giant, heaving sobs against his shoulder.  
  
“I won’t ever bugger off. And neither will your mum.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“I promise.”_  
  
He cringed thinking how easy it’d been to make such a promise back then before things got complicated. But despite whatever had happened recently, Arthur vowed to put it aside and be there for Merlin now.  
  


********

  
Hunith answered the door when Arthur knocked, looking like she hadn’t slept in days.  
  
“He’s upstairs.”  
  
Arthur nodded, looked up the narrow staircase and then back to Hunith. The sag in her shoulders reinforced her overall weariness. Even the house seemed different; there were no inviting scents coming from the kitchen, no talk radio turned to BBC news. He leaned forward and hugged her. Until that moment, he hadn’t realised how slight Hunith was, how fragile she seemed.  
  
“He won’t talk to me,” she said, stifling a sob. “I’m worried. He hasn’t come down since we heard. He’s hardly eating.”  
  
“It’ll be all right,” Arthur promised, giving her a final awkward pat before releasing her. He wasn’t confident himself, but it seemed the only thing to say. The fact that Merlin wasn’t eating bothered him. Merlin barely had an ounce of extra flesh as it was. “I’ll talk to him.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Of course. You know I’d do anything for Merlin.”  
  
“You’ve always been such a good friend,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself in a tight hug.  
  
Upstairs, Arthur paused at Merlin’s door with his hand on the knob, a flush of embarrassment warming him as he remembered the last time he’d opened it without knocking. He doubted very much that Merlin was in a similar state at the moment, but rapped quietly just the same, just to be sure. No one answered.  
  
He cracked the door a little. “Merls?”  
  
When he didn’t receive any response, he pushed open the door and looked around, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The shades were drawn and Merlin was nothing but a lump under his bedclothes. Like the rest of the house, Merlin’s room seemed unusually quiet, the air still.  
  
“Merlin . . . Um . . .” Arthur moved closer. Maybe he was asleep; Merlin often kipped with the blankets drawn up over his head in a stuffy cocoon.  
  
He stood next to the bed, hesitating, then reached out and touched the part of the lump that was most likely Merlin’s shoulder. The lump shifted, and then the covers were pulled down, revealing Merlin’s messy hair and one of his eyes.  
  
“I thought you were in Scotland.”  
  
“I was.”  
  
“Mum called you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Merlin disappeared again.  
  
“But you know I wanted to come. Jesus, I’m so sorry. About everything, what an arse I’ve been, but especially about your dad.”  
  
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” came the muffled response.  
  
“Um . . . okay. We don’t have to. It’s just your mum’s worried about you and I’m, fuck, Merlin, would you please just come out for a second?”  
  
For a minute, Arthur thought Merlin was going to keep ignoring him. He never should have come, and where the hell was Leon, anyway? How could he just leave Merlin like this, hiding in his room, not eating?  
  
Then the covers lifted, and Arthur stared, confused. Merlin wasn’t looking at him—in fact he seemed to be making every effort to look away—but he held the blankets up as if in invitation. Without thinking, Arthur quickly toed off his trainers and slipped inside the warmth of Merlin’s bed, surprised when Merlin’s arms and legs immediately enveloped him in a full body hug. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and held tight.  
  
“He never came back,” Merlin said in a whispery voice. “I always thought I’d get to see him again.”  
  
Arthur squeezed harder. “I know.” He had the overwhelming urge to stroke Merlin’s hair, so he did, feeling how soft it was, how it smelled like something indefinably boy that wasn’t at all unpleasant, even if it was apparent that Merlin hadn’t showered.  
  
“I’m so fucking angry at him. He had no fucking right. No fucking right.”  
  
A wetness seeped through Arthur’s T-shirt as Merlin cried, body shaking slightly. He was quiet, fisting Arthur’s shirt, and Arthur just kept touching Merlin’s hair, leaning down and kissing the top of the dark head resting on his chest. There didn’t seem to be anything he could say to make things better; he ached for Merlin, for the unfairness of it all. Eventually, Merlin stilled, sniffling a bit.  
  
“I just can’t believe it,” Merlin said. “It’s like he’s still out there somewhere, you know? Like all this is just a dream.”  
  
Arthur, nodded, but he was at a loss. He kept petting Merlin to disguise how frantic he felt inside. If Merlin could hear his heart, though, he’d know how it was thundering, know how this embrace was affecting him, especially when Merlin moved closer, almost nuzzling into his neck.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said again, for lack of anything else to say. His throat was dry and his eyes burned with unaccountable tears.  
  
“Do you know the worst part? I’m not even sure I love him anymore. The first thing I thought . . .” Merlin’s voice grew quiet. “Was _good_. What kind of person does that make me?”  
  
Merlin had begun crying again—little, desperate sounds that shook Arthur to his core.  
  
“It’s okay.” Arthur pulled on Merlin’s shoulders, wanting to see his face. “I mean . . . I understand that. You’re supposed to love your parents, but when they don’t love you like they should, it’s hard. So whatever you feel right now is fine. If you wanna cry, then cry; if you wanna punch someone, punch me. There’s no right way to act and you’re not a bad person, okay?”  
  
Merlin snuffled, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he said, hoarse. “I’m gross.”  
  
“No you’re not.” The strange part was Arthur didn’t even mind being covered in Merlin’s tears and snot.  
  
“I don’t want to punch you.”  
  
“Well, maybe you should.”  
  
“Arthur—”  
  
“I’ve been so stupid,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “I know that now.”  
  
Merlin shifted. His expression was serious and hesitant.  
  
“I . . .” he started to say, but Arthur stopped him from speaking, pulled him up and leaned forward to get his mouth where it needed to be. Merlin’s lips were wet and soft, and Arthur drew Merlin up until they were side-by-side. He didn’t know what he was doing, just pressed his mouth tentatively against Merlin’s, waiting to see what would happen. Merlin went rigid with surprise, still clutching at his shirt, so Arthur kissed the sides of his lips, his cheeks, and caressed Merlin’s face with his thumbs while he held his head. He could barely see anything but Merlin’s dark eyes, which fluttered closed as he began to respond. Merlin moaned into the kiss and pressed closer, mashing their noses together accidentally before they found a proper angle.  
  
He didn’t know how long they lay there kissing, only at some point legs got even more tangled together; hands tugged at hair; mouths became more demanding, wetter. Arthur found himself on top of Merlin, not sure where to put his hands, not sure if he was too heavy or if boys liked it when you kissed their necks or the sides of their faces. His skin had gone damp from being so close under the bedclothes, and Merlin was salty where Arthur’s lips touched. Merlin clung to him, hips jerking up as Arthur pressed down, and soon they’d found a rhythm that made Arthur throb despite being constrained by jeans. He angled against Merlin’s thigh, rutting into the seam of his hip, Merlin’s own arousal against Arthur’s pelvis.  
  
It scared him a little, how turned on Merlin was, but Arthur’s body responded anyway. He let his instinct take over, marvelling at how different it was from being with a girl, the two of them moving frantically, searching for something just out of reach. Merlin’s sounds just made Arthur all the more desperate, the little whimpers and moans shooting through him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised Merlin’s narrow bed was creaking and they should probably be quieter, but then Merlin’s leg hitched up around his and Merlin licked at his throat and Arthur understood how much boys _did_ like those kinds of kisses. And how much he liked giving them.  
  
Neither of them spoke, but suddenly he was there at the peak, unable to stop it, _I’m coming I’m coming Fuck I’m coming on top of Merlin_ , hips jerking as he spilled into his jeans with a groan he couldn’t hold back.  
  
“Oh God, did you . . .” Merlin said, and Arthur felt embarrassment flame until Merlin was right there, too, gasping quietly against his face, hips snapping up against Arthur’s.  
  
Once their breathing settled, Arthur rolled to the side and stared at the ceiling, shocked.  
He closed his eyes, trying to control the beat of his heart, the nervous panic that threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, his voice worried. It forced Arthur to open his eyes and look at Merlin, remembering how he’d come to be here in the first place; Merlin’s dad had just killed himself and there was no way he could freak out. He ignored the uncomfortable wetness in his pants and reached out to stroke Merlin’s side, the sliver of warm skin where his shirt had rucked up. Strangely, instead of unsettling him further, the contact made him relax. Like it was right. Like he was supposed to be here in Merlin’s bed with him.  
  
Along with that feeling, though, came a nagging fear that maybe he’d taken advantage of Merlin in his state of weakness. Merlin watched him expectantly as his mouth opened and then closed again, fighting for the right words. Instead, the wrong ones came out. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, not with everything—”  
  
“Don’t,” Merlin brushed Arthur’s hand away, his face shuttering. “Thanks for stopping by. You can bugger off now.”  
  
“No, I’m not saying it was a mistake.” Arthur sat up, exasperated. “Fuck, I’m utter crap at this. I never know what to say.”  
  
“You didn’t use to.”  
  
“Yeah, well before it was different . . . we were just friends.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, wondering how the hell he could explain this to Merlin while he barely understood it himself.  
  
“And now we’re not friends anymore.”  
  
“No, we are. I mean, I want to be. I’m just . . . come on Merlin. Give me a little bit of a break. I’m confused about all of this,” Arthur said, figuring he might as well be honest.  
  
Merlin nodded, his brows still knit together. “So, are you like bi or something?”  
  
That term almost made him grimace, but he held it in, not wanting to offend. “I don’t know. I’ve never been attracted to a guy before now.” Even as he said the words, he blushed, realising they weren’t entirely true. “I’ve obviously never . . . done this before. With a guy.” The last sentence came out in a mumble.  
  
“You’re attracted to me?” Merlin asked.  
  
Arthur bit back a laugh and sat up; he’d thought it was pretty clear just minutes before. What unnerved him was how much more than attraction it seemed to be. “Um, yeah. Obviously. What did you think?”  
  
“Dunno. Maybe you’ve been lonely since your break-up with Gwen.”  
  
“I could have found someone to get off with,” Arthur said, a bit arsed now, whether at himself or Merlin he didn’t know. “It’s not that.”  
  
“Maybe you felt sorry for me, then, because of what I told you. Or because of my . . . my dad.”  
  
“No, no.” Arthur shook his head. “I don’t—you—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, okay? About kissing you. About you and Leon . . .”  
  
Merlin picked at a piece of lint on his comforter, not meeting his eyes.  
  
“Don’t,” Arthur said, moving closer, sure he knew what the guilty look on Merlin’s face meant. “Please don’t blame yourself. It was my fault. If you want, I’ll tell him that. He’ll forgive you. I don’t want to . . .” The thought of Merlin and Leon together made Arthur feel as though he’d swallowed a wasps’ nest, stinging all the way down from his mouth to his belly, but if that was what Merlin wanted, he’d make it right. He’d done this. He’d hurt Merlin and he hadn’t meant to, and yet all he wanted to do was kiss him again. Merlin’s lips were so soft, swollen and red from making out. Arthur was seriously fucked in the head.  
  
‘You’d do that?” Merlin asked, voice sounding dead.  
  
“Yeah, I mean, if you think it would help.”  
  
Merlin laughed hollowly.  
  
“What?” Arthur was sure he’d missed something.  
  
“I don’t even . . . fuck. I want _you_. Not Leon. I still want you. But not like this,” Merlin said, gesturing.  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m saying I thought I could forget about you, okay? Just put you out of my head because it’s _stupid_. And I like Leon, I really do. But what you said to me the other night at the pub got me thinking.” Merlin paused and blew out a breath. “I don’t love him and he's a nice guy, you know? Deserves better than this. So we broke up.”  
  
“Oh,” Arthur said, his heart thumping, relief like he’d never known hitting him hard despite the fact Merlin had just called liking him _stupid_.  
  
Merlin was still talking, seemingly more to himself than Arthur. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it? I mean, I want someone who wants me, you know, not just to get off on a whim but someone who _wants me_.”  
  
“I want you . . . as more than just someone to get off with,” Arthur said.  
  
“Just because of Leon, though. You were jealous.”  
  
Arthur sighed again, remembering how bitter he’d felt all of those times seeing them together. “Yeah. I was jealous, but that’s not the only reason. I mean, I might not have figured it out it so soon, but the way I feel about you, it’s . . .”  
  
“It’s what?”  
  
He shifted uncomfortably under Merlin’s stare, trying to sort things into words that didn’t make him seem like a total wanker.  
  
“It’s mental. The whole time I was at Viv’s, all I thought of was you, and I’ve known you forever but how could I not have known?” Merlin watched, wide eyed, as the words spilled out of him. “I feel like . . . there's something inside of me and I don’t know what it means, only that maybe it’s been there all along and I just didn’t know it until I kissed you and now that’s all . . . I mean that’s all I can think of.” Arthur nearly groaned, remembering how he’d woken up night after night at Viv’s with a boner and fleeting memories of pornographic dreams.  
  
“But I can’t just be like you are,” he continued, softer now. “My father—you _know_ how he is, Merlin—and college, all of that shit scares me to death, and maybe I’m a coward, and maybe it’s not good enough for you that I’m still trying to figure things out. I mean, this whole idea of liking blokes,” he could barely get the words out, “it’s bloody terrifying.”  
  
Merlin nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “You think I don’t know that? I mean, I’ve always known I was gay, but it’s not exactly easy, especially living up here.” Though York was a relatively tolerant place, people in the more conservative outlying areas could be extremely close-minded. Arthur’s own father was from that same, old school Tory stock. He’d never had a reason to question his prejudices.  
  
Arthur gathered his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. “I don’t know if I’m gay. I’ve got off with girls. But I . . .” He trailed off, distracted by the way Merlin’s shirt gaped at the neck, giving him a view of the sharp collarbone he’d apparently decorated with light bruises. Just seeing it made his dick twitch with renewed interest. It wouldn’t take much more for him to want a second go. With Gwen, sex had been pleasant, but she’d definitely wanted it more often than he had. Apparently his refractory period was . . . improving.  
  
“Have you ever . . . um . . .” Merlin seemed equally awkward, searching for words.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I meant, have you ever looked at porn. Gay stuff. Just to see if you liked it?”  
  
The thought of watching anonymous men made Arthur’s face heat, his skin flaming from his ears to his groin, a strange heat pooling there. His eyes flicked to Merlin’s computer desk, remembering.  
  
“No. Well, I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m into you. I don’t know if I’m ready to watch gay porn, Merlin.” Arthur let out a nervous laugh. “Just trust me when I say what I feel for you is different. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”  
  
“Different how?”  
  
“Better,” Arthur admitted, grateful for the darkness that hid his blush.  
  
“Maybe you are gay. At least bi, then,” Merlin said. The gentleness of his tone only made Arthur’s face hotter. He was sweating again, damp under his arms and sticky inside his jeans where his come was drying. He shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“The one thing I’m sure of is that I like you.” Saying the words out loud made it all real; it was terrifying and exhilarating, but he couldn’t deny it, not when even sitting a foot apart was too far away. He wanted so many things he didn’t know how to name.  
  
“What?” Merlin asked. There was a hopeful glint in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen in a very long time. It gave him courage.  
  
“I want to . . . try this. But I can’t promise it will be easy and I might freak out sometimes and there’s no way I can tell my father, so we’d have to be, you know. For now.” Arthur hung his head, ashamed for even asking Merlin to hide.  
  
Merlin surprised him by moving closer and wrapping an arm around his waist. They both leaned back against the wall, and Arthur let himself sink against Merlin’s side, amazed again by how the proximity made him relax. He sighed.  
  
“You want to try?” Merlin’s words tickled the hair at Arthur’s temple. He leaned a bit closer, and Merlin’s lips grazed the skin there.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ever pressure you to go public if you weren’t ready. We don’t even know what will happen yet, anyway. I mean, if we do this.”  
  
“If?” Arthur asked, his gut clenching, pained at the doubt in Merlin’s voice, mostly because he understood it.  
  
“What if something . . . if it doesn’t work out and we can’t be friends?” Merlin snuggled closer, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “I need you.”  
  
That’s what it was then, this feeling—need. He needed Merlin, too. “We won’t let that happen. We’ll always be friends. I promise.”  
  
Merlin laughed again, but it didn’t sound happy. “You can’t make those kinds of promises.”  
  
“But isn’t it worth it? Isn’t this . . . maybe worth trying out? I don’t think I could go back to being just friends anyway. So we might as well.”  
  
“You’re so romantic,” Merlin teased, elbowing Arthur’s side. “In for a penny, in for a pound?”  
  
Arthur turned to him, stroked Merlin’s cheek with one hand, and Merlin’s smile vanished.  
  
“I’m sorry if I don’t say the right thing all the time. But all I want to do is kiss you again. Can I?”  
  
Merlin nodded, licked his lips and shifted so he was sitting in front of Arthur, their legs intertwined in some imitation of a giant spider. Merlin ran his hands through Arthur’s hair, firing the nerves in his scalp, making him shiver. They kissed slowly, learning the terrain of each other’s mouths until Arthur was fully aroused again. It didn’t take long, he observed with some irony.  
  
“I feel . . . guilty to be happy right now,” Merlin said when they finally broke away. His eyes were glazed. “With everything. Leon. My dad.”  
  
“I’m sorry. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to bring all of this up.”  
  
Shaking his head, Merlin took Arthur’s hand and kissed it. “No. It was the very best time. Just knowing you care and . . . all. It helps.”  
  
“Of course I care.” Arthur drew Merlin back down to lie face-to-face, arms wrapped loosely around each other’s waists. Tears glimmered in Merlin’s eyes again, dripped down his face onto the pillow between them.  
  
“He said he was proud of me,” Merlin said. “In the note. He said he’d always loved us.”  
  
Arthur nodded, leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, stroking Merlin’s hair. “Of course he did. He was sick. It wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“He hanged himself, Arthur.”  
  
A shiver ran down Arthur’s spine and he held Merlin tighter, wishing he could erase everything, knowing he couldn’t.  
  
He held Merlin until he slept.

********

  
The week that followed was surreal.  
  
Balinor had died in France, so there were days of waiting while paperwork was filed and his ashes were shipped by certified post, a method Arthur found curiously macabre.  
  
The funeral was small since Hunith couldn’t afford it and Balinor hadn’t any money either, but they managed a little plot at a local Catholic church and had a burial for family and close friends. Gwaine, Lance, and Gwen came, too, and Merlin gave them a wan smile. He looked handsome in his black suit, grown up. Arthur’s heart filled like a balloon, making everything else in his chest ache with the longing to kiss the dark shadows under his eyes. At least he was eating again. Arthur and Hunith had seen to that, and Merlin had been more amenable once Arthur had returned.  
  
The two of them hadn’t had any time alone since that first night of confessions, but Arthur had been at Merlin’s house every day, and when he wasn’t there, he wanted to be. It was as it had always been, but different. He caught himself staring more than he probably should, watching Merlin perform simple tasks like make his mum tea. How had he never noticed how graceful Merlin was despite his gangly limbs? The way he swallowed nervously and smiled when he caught Arthur staring?  
  
It still scared him, too, the idea of being more with Merlin. How could any of this possibly work? When they were together, everything faded away. They were just Merlin and Arthur and words like gay, straight, and bi didn’t matter, but as soon as he was alone things got more complicated in his head.  
  
Being in public was about to get complicated, too. As Balinor was laid to rest, they stood side-by-side, shoulders rubbing together, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to hold Merlin’s hand. Of course he couldn’t because his father was across the way and he’d see. Right now, to everyone else they were as they’d ever been, best mates. Anything more than this, this casual brush of shoulders, would give them away.  
  
The priest did a short prayer, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. Maybe it didn’t even matter whether he was holding Merlin’s hand; his feelings were plain for anyone to see. How could they not be? Every time Merlin shifted, Arthur was aware of the movement, remembering how Merlin felt against him, under him. Fuck, it was so wrong to be having these thoughts but Arthur couldn’t help it. He craved that feeling again, the messy-hot kissing that made Merlin’s lips swollen.  
  
Luckily, they’d be going away to Scotland soon if Arthur didn’t bollocks his A-Levels, and he could be with Merlin more openly. It would be worth going to uni for that reason alone.  
  
Merlin’s hand brushed against Arthur’s again, pulling him out of his fantasy and reminding him where they were. Arthur pressed back, trying to both make the gesture appear accidental while also letting Merlin know it wasn’t.

  
Perhaps complicated was an understatement.  
  
They went back to Merlin’s afterward, and in the spirit of Balinor’s Irish heritage, Merlin poured whiskey for the guests. Arthur found himself standing with his friends and sipping his drink quietly, watching as Merlin accepted condolences from a few of his father’s army mates who’d come to pay their respects. Merlin had taken control once they’d arrived, making sure his mother was okay, handling the food and the drink and the music, smiling through it all. Occasionally, their eyes met; in those moments Arthur knew that despite appearances, Merlin was hurting. The smile wasn’t real.  
  
“How’s he holding up?”  
  
Arthur turned, startled, and looked down at Gwen. Gwaine and Lance had moved off to refill their drinks, leaving the two of them alone.  
  
Her eyes were warm, filled with concern.  
  
“I guess as well as can be expected.”  
  
They both watched as a burly, bald man slapped Merlin’s back, throwing his head back with laughter. Apparently they’d moved on to telling stories about Balinor from the good old days. Arthur’s father sat on the sofa next to Morgana, not really participating at all.  
  
“It’s so sad,” Gwen said, her voice mournful. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a parent like that . . .” She trailed off.  
  
“Yeah, well, Merlin’s strong. He’ll be okay.” He didn’t know why he responded so abruptly, perhaps because he didn’t like the idea of Merlin being permanently damaged by his selfish, neglectful father.  
  
“I know he will,” Gwen said. “It’s lucky he has you.”  
  
Arthur thought he detected something knowing in her tone, but when he turned back she was looking down at her drink.  
  
“Yeah, well. We’re mates.”  
  
“I’m glad you two seem to have worked out . . . whatever it was.”  
  
Before he could respond, Lance and Gwaine re-joined them.  
  
“Cheers,” Gwaine said, lifting his glass. “To Balinor. May he rest in peace.”  
  
“To Balinor,” Lance and Gwen echoed.  
  
Arthur uttered the words without the sentiment, but clinked glasses anyway, downing the rest of his drink in a quick gulp that burned.  
  
Later, once the guests had gone, Arthur stayed behind to help Hunith and Merlin clean up. Hunith looked even more exhausted than her son, so they sent her off to rest. It was clear despite whatever had happened between her and her husband, she still loved him after all these years.  
  
“If you boys need help, just call me.”  
  
“We’re fine, Mum,” Merlin said, kissing her head as if she were the child. In the past couple of days, he’d made a remarkable turnaround, taking the reins in a way that was so adult Arthur marvelled at it, wondered if he could do the same in Merlin’s situation. Probably not. Between the two of them, Merlin had always been the stronger one; Arthur had just never known it until now.  
  
But once Hunith had gone to her room, Merlin’s whole body sagged under the weight of the day. Wasting no time, Arthur went to him, immediately relaxing with the relief of being close. For a moment they just stood there, arms wrapped around each other, and then Merlin kissed his cheek.  
  
“Thanks for everything,” he murmured.  
  
“I didn’t do anything.”  
  
“You’re here,” Merlin said. Arthur rubbed his lower back, rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, noting how well they fit together, how the planes of their bodies lined up in just the right way.  
  
Merlin squeezed tighter and released a long breath before pulling back. “I guess we’d better tidy up.” He looked around the room, frowning at the dirty dishes and half-filled glasses left behind.  
  
“Come on,” Arthur said, “we’ll do it really fast and then go watch a pants film or something.”  
  
Merlin smiled. “That sounds brilliant.”  
  
“Yeah, well. I am.”  
  
They made quick work of the mess before Arthur phoned his father to say he was spending the night at Merlin’s. It wasn’t at all unusual—they often stayed at each other’s houses—but still he felt himself flushing as he shut his mobile, anticipating another night with Merlin in his arms.  
  
“I thought you might want company,” Arthur said, stowing his phone, trying not to worry at the unreadable expression on his friend’s face. “I don’t . . . I can go, though, if you’d rather be alone.”  
  
“No, no. I was gonna ask, anyway. I’ve . . .” Merlin bit his lip. “I’ve missed you.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
They kissed, Merlin’s hands firm on his shoulders, his mouth opening to let Arthur’s tongue inside. Arthur’s body reacted immediately, but he kept from pressing himself against Merlin. They’d only just buried Balinor, and Merlin needed comfort, not Arthur rutting against him like some sort of animal. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of Merlin’s aftershave and something indescribably him, warmed by the whiskey and the heat of his friend’s body through his clothes.  
  
When Arthur tasted something salty melding with their kisses, he pulled back, stomach twisting at the sight of Merlin’s tears.  
  
“What? What is it?” Arthur asked.  
  
Merlin wiped at his cheeks with the back of his shirtsleeve. “It’s funny, well not really funny, but funny-weird, yeah? I mean, here are these army blokes who knew my dad telling me all these stories about him like I’m one of them, like I’m supposed to know how great he was. I never knew him like that, how he was before the war.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, and he meant it. It made him think of his own father, how different he’d apparently been before Ygraine had died, how bitter Arthur sometimes was he’d never gotten a chance to know that man.  
  
“It’s not fair.”  
  
“No.” Arthur stroked Merlin’s arms, his back, wanting to comfort him and not knowing how.  
  
“And no one wants to talk about it, how he died. I mean, I don’t want to talk about it either but I see it in people’s faces, the way they pity me. They judge him, but it’s the elephant in the room. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”  
  
Arthur pulled him tighter again, and Merlin’s head fell onto his shoulder like it was just too heavy to carry.  
  
“I keep having these nightmares . . . like where I see him do it. It’s horrible, Arth.”  
  
“Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“I don’t want you to worry.”  
  
Arthur scoffed. He’d been doing pretty much nothing else the entire week. “Well that’s stupid, mate. You can tell me those things, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said, though he didn’t sound at all convincing. He stifled a yawn against Arthur’s shoulder.  
  
“You tired?”  
  
“Knackered,” Merlin admitted.  
  
“Well, let’s go to bed.” It was still early, but Merlin looked about ready to drop, and Arthur was already bearing most of his weight.  
  
Upstairs in Merlin’s room they put on old _Doctor Who_ and spooned under the blankets. Arthur ran his hand through Merlin’s hair, mussing it and doing his best not to get a hard-on with his whole body pressed against Merlin’s back. It wasn’t long before Merlin was snoring softly in front of him, chest rising and falling under Arthur’s arm.  
  
In spite of his own fatigue, Arthur didn’t have such an easy time drifting off. He kept replaying what had happened today at the funeral, remembering how he’d wanted to hold Merlin’s hand. There was only so long they could keep this a secret between them; sooner or later people would find out, and then what?  
  
They would just have to take it one day at a time.  
  
Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, and in the morning he awoke warm, very warm. Somehow in the night, Merlin had turned to face him and spooning had become clinging—rather, Merlin clinging onto him, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around. It figured Merlin was a cuddler. Arthur smiled stupidly at the ceiling, content.  
  
At first Merlin appeared to be asleep, but then he shifted slightly, and Arthur bit his lip at the sensation of Merlin’s morning erection against his hip. His own was trapped in his Y-fronts, caught between his belly and Merlin’s thigh. When Merlin moved again, the contact forced an audible breath from Arthur, and he pressed back, enjoying the building arousal.  
  
They moved against each other without speaking, only the sound of Merlin’s breathing in his ear quiet in the early morning stillness of the house, until it wasn’t enough.  
  
Not knowing how to articulate his need, Arthur closed his eyes and tugged Merlin’s waist. Merlin seemed to get the hint, scrambling astride so that they rocked together, legs entwined, only their pants between them. Arthur decided he quite liked being pressed into the mattress with Merlin on top, their erections hard and full, both avoiding each other’s mouths out of morning breath embarrassment. Instead they kissed each other’s faces, necks, anywhere lips could reach. Arthur’s hands drifted over the swell of Merlin’s arse, kneading the flesh there, eyes rolling back in his head when Merlin humped forward in just the right way. He wondered if it would be okay to touch Merlin’s skin, and so he let his hand drift to the top of Merlin’s briefs, skimming the elastic and waiting for a protest. When none came, he dipped a hand inside. Merlin hummed his approval and Arthur continued his exploration, marvelling at the muscles of Merlin’s arse, the way it clenched and firmed with each thrust. He didn’t mind that it was slightly fuzzy; in fact, he rather liked it. He slipped his other hand inside as well and gripped, urging for faster movements.  
  
Their chests pressed together, the friction of hair so much different than a girl’s soft breasts, but still Arthur found himself drawn to Merlin’s nipples, leaning forward to lick whenever he got a chance. He loved Merlin’s body, the forceful way they moved together, not afraid of hurting because everything felt good. He even liked the damp, musky smell of his armpits.  
  
Merlin’s eyes were closed, his face flushed, and it wasn’t long before his hips jerked and he let out a quiet moan, burying his head into the crease of Arthur’s neck and—oh God—sucking there. Arthur held his head close, encouraging, as his own orgasm ripped through him, the release washing over him in waves.  
  
Merlin collapsed on his chest and said something unintelligible, and Arthur kissed the top of his head, his body still pulsing with slight aftershocks when Merlin’s knee accidentally brushed against his softening cock.  
  
Neither of them seemed ready to speak, but Merlin finally broke the silence.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” Merlin asked, lifting his head so that Arthur could see his face. He looked better rested than he had the day before, hair sticking up every which way. The best part of all—he was smiling.  
  
“The waking up part was better,” Arthur hedged. “How about you? Any nightmares?”  
  
“No. No bad dreams at all. But I agree about the waking up.”


	6. Chapter Six

The following week, Merlin was back at college, and Arthur soon learned that he’d been both right and wrong when he’d worried about the change in his relationship with Merlin bringing complications.  
  
He and Merlin had always been close, so it wasn’t unusual for them to spend time together; at college they acted like they always had, except for now—and this is where things got complicated—Arthur worried. He worried that people could see the change in the way he looked at Merlin or they way they acted; sometimes he thought he caught Gwaine looking at them strangely, or Gwen, and then he hated himself for caring, or for moving away from Merlin when he was standing too close.  
  
It was impossible not to touch Merlin the way he wanted to, not to pull him close and snog him, which was strange because Arthur’d never been physically demonstrative in public with any of his girlfriends, even Gwen. But everything was intensified. As soon as they were alone, Arthur couldn’t get enough of touching, kissing the soft places on Merlin’s neck, holding his cock through his trousers and letting desire rock him as Merlin grew hard. There was definitely something wrong with him, but he couldn’t fight it, and Merlin never even knew he wanted to.  
  
The only safe place seemed to be the small, soundproof room where Merlin practiced his trumpet each morning. Arthur would stop in and they’d turn off the light so they couldn’t be seen from outside and Arthur would press Merlin up against the wall and bite his lips, which were already swollen from playing. By the end of the week, Arthur had a row of purpling bruises just underneath the neckline of his shirt and the music instructor was starting to notice his comings and goings, so he left off visiting Merlin in the morning, tamping down his impatience until they were home, away from prying eyes.  
  
Merlin didn’t really talk much about Balinor’s death after the funeral, but Arthur could tell he wasn’t quite right. For one, he was quieter when they were all together in a big group, and even when the two of them were alone, he’d sometimes trail off, lose the track of the conversation. Sometimes Arthur would catch him staring into space with a distant look in his eyes, but when he asked about it, Merlin just put him off, said it was nothing. Not knowing who to else to talk to, Arthur rang his aunt.  
  
Arthur explained the situation to her one evening, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.  
  
On the end of the line, Viv sighed. “People deal with their grief in different ways, lad. Maybe Merlin isn’t ready to tell you what’s going on in his head.”  
  
“Yeah, but he isn’t usually like this. I mean, when I first came back from Scotland and we—”  
  
Arthur stopped himself just quickly enough, holding the phone away from his ear and cursing himself for almost outing their relationship. It had come so easy, almost slipped off his tongue. It was so tempting to tell her, though, and relieve the burden of the secret. But if he did, he’d risk his father finding out. No, he’d just have to be much more careful in the future.  
  
“When you what?”  
  
“We made up. Yeah, so as I was saying, he talked about it then. I’m just afraid maybe he needs to see someone, to talk . . . you know, maybe someone professional. But if I bring it up, he’ll be arsed.”  
  
From the background noises he could tell Viv was probably cooking something, running the water in the kitchen, chopping.  
  
“It sounds like he’s doing okay, lad. I think you just need to let him have his time. It’s a big thing to lose someone in such a shocking way. The best thing you can do is be there for him if he wants to talk.”  
  
After they hung up, Arthur stared at his David Bowie poster and frowned. Merlin’s eighteenth birthday was in a few days and Arthur couldn’t decide what to get him. For his own, Merlin had given him a collector’s edition of _Labyrinth_ signed by the Duke himself (how he’d ever found it, Arthur would never know), but every idea he had seemed not quite right. In any case, Merlin had told him in not so many words that he didn’t want a party or any big fuss, so getting the gang together was out of the question, too. It was odd: before he’d never had any trouble choosing a gift, but perhaps that was because he’d never worried so much over it.  
  
Unfortunately, by the day of Merlin’s birthday, he still hadn’t thought of a unique present, so he hastily purchased a card and a gift certificate to a gaming store and slipped it into Merlin’s locker at college.  
  
A few hours later, he got a text in the middle of his history course.  
  
 _Thank u for the gift. :-)_  
  
Arthur groaned; if Merlin didn’t say he loved it or include lots of exclamation marks that meant it was crap. And it was. It was total crap.  
  
 _Wot r u up 2 later?_ he texted back.  
  
 _Nothing. What were u thinking?  
  
Go out 4 a pnt?  
  
Nah. Not up for that. Film at mine? ;)_  
  
Arthur tried to hide his grin; they’d yet to actually watch any of the films they began. Over the past few weeks, they’d got the dry humping down to a science, but they hadn’t gone further. No matter what Arthur’s body wanted, there was this imaginary boundary in his head which dictated as long as they kept their pants on (even whilst groping each other’s arses underneath) it wasn’t really gay. Rationally, he knew that sort of distinction was bollocks, but it was comforting all the same.  
  
Merlin didn’t ever make any comments about it, but sometimes he seemed impatient to get to the next step. If Arthur was being honest with himself, so was he.  
  
 _Ok ;) See u later._ Arthur replied before stowing his mobile again.  
  
When he arrived at Merlin’s at a little after seven, Hunith’s car was gone from the drive. Merlin answered the door in a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt with a tiny rip just under his nipple. He looked good enough to eat, and Arthur didn’t waste any time backing him up against the wall and snogging him, running his hand up under the shirt.  
  
“Hi,” Merlin said, breathless when they pulled away.  
  
“Happy birthday,” Arthur said, kissing his neck, then trailing his mouth down along the collarbone peeking out, sucking there for a moment until Merlin tugged his hair, bringing their lips together again. As usual, Arthur was hard as a rock within seconds; he reached down to adjust himself. “Do you feel any different now you’re eighteen?” he asked, stroking the soft skin of Merlin’s belly.  
  
“Not really,” he said, breathless, eyes heavy. The skin under Arthur’s fingers broke out in gooseflesh. “So yeah, I was thinking maybe we could forget the film,” Merlin said, leaning forward for another kiss. He wound his arms around Arthur’s neck and pulled him close. Arthur gasped as Merlin’s erection pressed against his hip. “That is, unless you don’t . . .”  
  
Merlin trailed off uncertainly.  
  
“No, that sounds brilliant.”  
  
Merlin nodded and closed his eyes, still red in the face, and Arthur kissed him again, grabbed his hand. Once upstairs, Merlin was shy, looking down at his feet, trousers tented. He was in a similar state himself, and the sight of Merlin’s hard on made his own pulse with desire.  
  
“So I have no idea what I’m doing,” Arthur said, making the first move. He slid his arm around Merlin’s waist and tugged him so their bodies were flush together. “I hope that’s okay.”  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin said, sounding tired and horny.  
  
They kissed again, shifting against each other, hands roving over backs and arses, all the while Arthur thinking about how much better it would feel if they were naked. Realising he was being silently asked to take the initiative, he guided Merlin back toward the bed and they fell onto it, mouths still touching as they pulled off their clothes. Arthur kicked off his dress shoes and fumbled with his belt, cursing under his breath when he almost snagged his cock in his zipper.  
  
By the time he was naked, he realised that Merlin had stopped undressing or trying to kiss him and was staring between his legs, mouth slightly ajar. And Merlin still had his jeans on.  
  
“Um,” Arthur said, suddenly self-conscious. He made a move to cover himself but Merlin grabbed his hand away, brushing against his erection in the process. Arthur sucked in a breath and held it as Merlin reached out to stroke him again, this time with intent.  
  
It was tentative at first. Arthur watched as Merlin’s hand slipped over his cock, pulling back his foreskin and rubbing at the sensitive head in a way that made him hiss. He was already embarrassingly close to coming, so when Merlin leaned down, his eyes dark, and lapped at his slit, he had to recite multiplication tables to keep from losing it.  
  
“Merlin,” Arthur said, panting, “Oh God.” It was impossible to look away as Merlin’s tongue licked out to taste him before his mouth covered and—fuck—sucked him in half-way. Merlin's lips stretched obscenely around his cock, taking in more until it bumped against the back of his throat. Arthur couldn’t hold on anymore, his control slipping as his hips stuttered upwards. Despite his warning grunt and attempt to pull Merlin off, Merlin kept sucking him, something Arthur had never had before. He came, helpless, biting his lip to stop from moaning.  
  
When Merlin pulled off and gave him a sheepish smile, Arthur tackled him to the bed.  
  
“I want to see you,” Arthur said, yanking at Merlin’s jeans, impatient.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes, I’m ruddy sure.” He’d wanked enough to know how it felt and figured it couldn’t be that much different with someone else’s cock. As for sucking a dick, he knew what felt good. It couldn’t be that difficult.  
  
 _Could it?_  
  
Finally the offending clothes were thrown aside and Arthur got his first look at Merlin fully naked.  
  
He stared, running his hand down Merlin’s side, drinking in the sight. Sure, he’d seen Merlin starkers over the years, but not recently, and never like this, hard and ready for sex. A part of him had expected to be turned off. It was one thing to grind against each other with clothes on and quite another to be presented with the actual equipment.  
  
All of those worries vanished with Merlin spread out before him, vulnerable and suddenly shy. He was gorgeous, his cock rising dark pink from a thatch of wirey hair. Arthur’s own prick began to take an interest as his eyes travelled over Merlin’s body, not knowing where to touch first. He felt like his brain was melting.  
  
“Arthur,” Merlin said, drawing Arthur’s attention back to his face. His eyes were nearly black, lips parted.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re looking at me like . . .” Merlin laughed, trailed his hand up Arthur’s arm. “Like you've never seen a naked person before.”  
  
“Um,” Arthur said, hovering over him and kissing him hard, heart hammering as he reached out to grip Merlin’s prick at the base. He stared down, watching as his hand began a slow journey up over the shaft to the leaking head, pulling back the foreskin as Merlin had done. It slipped under his fingers, wet, and Merlin shuddered. Arthur worked the loose covering back over the crown and massaged the tip. It was prettier than his own cock, Arthur decided, longer and with a gentle curve that suited Merlin. Arthur’s mouth watered instinctively as Merlin’s hips strained. Swallowing, he turned and leaned down, giving it an experimental lick. The slick-salty fluid coated his tongue, bitter but not entirely unpleasant.  
  
“A-arthur,” Merlin’s voice was broken, his hands moving restlessly through Arthur’s hair. The pungent smell of Merlin’s arousal made Arthur’s dick start to fill again. Steeling himself, he sucked Merlin’s tip into his mouth.  
  
Merlin was making needy sounds, so Arthur took him a bit further; soon he’d sort of gotten the hang of it, taking the cock into his mouth, trying not to think about the fact that he had a cock in his mouth, all the while loving the feel of it and trying not to think about that either. He scraped Merlin a couple of times and learned to sheath the sharp points of his teeth, using one hand to wrap around the base and stroking the bit he couldn’t fit inside. It seemed whatever he was doing, Merlin was enjoying it. Arthur kept on until his jaw grew tired, wondering how long it would take for Merlin to come, and what the hell he would do when he did. Swallowing Merlin’s jizz seemed scary, but he wasn’t about to be bested at giving head by Merlin, either. An unexpected hitch of Merlin’s hips shocked him out of his thoughts. Gagging, he pulled off, saliva dribbling down his chin.  
  
“Sorry,” Merlin said, breathless. “Sorry.” Arthur thought about making a retort, but Merlin was squirming on the bed, hands fisting his sheets. Something swelled in Arthur’s chest, a desire to take care of Merlin, make him feel good. So he gripped Merlin’s cock and started stroking, trying to gain a steady rhythm, but it was difficult with Merlin thrusting up erratically to meet him. And then Merlin was pulling him back up, arms wrapping round, and Arthur moved one arm to hold Merlin close, stroking him off with the other as their mouths clashed, messy and wet. It didn’t take long before Merlin whimpered high in his throat and Arthur felt the first spurt coating his hand, slicking his movements. He watched as Merlin came, spurting onto his belly and moaning Arthur’s name. Only once Merlin’s orgasm had ended and Arthur had a wet handful of cooling come did he notice he was hard and humping against Merlin’s thigh.  
  
And he’d just given a blowjob. Handjob. Whatever.  
  
And all of it had been pretty bloody brilliant.  
  
Merlin pulled away and grabbed a shirt from his floor, tossing it to Arthur to wipe off the mess. He did, and then sought Merlin again, rubbing his prick against Merlin’s side, kissing him and sliding along Merlin’s hip-crease until he was close and gasping at Merlin’s ear.  
  
When it was all over and they were both back in their clothes—Hunith was due home at any moment—lying in a tangled heap on Merlin’s bed, Arthur tried to think of another time he’d been so happy.  
  
He couldn’t.

********

  
The end of term passed in a flurry of A-Level preparations. Arthur and his friends formed study groups and met at each other’s houses, stayed up all hours and ate crap food while they revised. Gwen was petrified of her upcoming French exam and refused to speak to anyone unless they replied in French, which basically meant she only talked to Lance. Gwaine didn’t seem concerned at all, and spent most of the sessions distracting the rest of them. Merlin was the only one able to ignore Gwaine and did his revision listening to music, usually lying on his stomach with his legs bent, feet swaying in the air. Of course that only made Gwaine more interested; he’d tease Merlin, throw things at him, poke him in the side. It was common knowledge Merlin and Leon had broken up, and Gwaine was not so subtly letting his interest be known. Arthur just focused on his books and tried not to scowl.  
  
One night, after they’d decided to leave off and go for a kebab, Gwaine cleared his throat and stood up on a bench like he was a politician about to make a speech.  
  
“I’ve got a proposal for you blokes.”  
  
“ _Et la femme_ ,” Gwen replied, hands on hips, levelling up a mock-glare.  
  
“Sorry,” Gwaine said with a grin, “Just think of you as one of the lads.” Gwen huffed.  
  
“Just get on with it,” Arthur interrupted. “What’s your brilliant proposal?”  
  
Next to him, Merlin chuckled softly; it made Arthur’s insides go tight. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.  
  
“Amsterdam.”  
  
“What?” more than one of them asked.  
  
“Let me paint a picture for you, lads and, er, lady,” Gwaine swept his hand dramatically, “the romantic canals of Amsterdam, coffee shops on every corner, eh? Gorgeous Dutch girls everywhere and,” he smirked down at Merlin, “gorgeous blokes too.”  
  
Percy snorted at Gwaine, throwing his balled up napkin, but Gwaine ignored him and continued. “Heineken. Fuckin’ tulips, mates. I say after exams we go for a mini-holiday. Just think on it! We’re all off to different corners of the country, yeah? So let’s have a send off to remember!”  
  
A few people murmured their approval, and even Arthur found himself impressed by the idea. Still, he wasn’t above giving Gwaine a hard time for all that flirting with Merlin. “You just wanna go to the Red Light district, mate,” he said.  
  
“Nah,” Gwaine replied, “If all goes according to plan, I won’t have to pay for it.”  
  
Arthur was going to pretend that Gwaine hadn’t just looked at Merlin because if he didn’t, someone was going to get his jaw broken. Even so, he took a step closer to Merlin. _Mine_.  
  
“Yeah right,” Percy cried out, “that’s not what I heard the other . . .”  
  
“Arth?” A tug on his arm distracted Arthur from the ensuing banter between Percy and Gwaine. He turned and looked at Merlin, who was biting at his lip. “What do you think? Do you . . . wanna go?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“It might be fun. Yeah. But please save me from rooming with Gwaine.”  
  
Arthur frowned. “That’s not happening,” he growled.  
  
“Oi, mates!” Gwaine was calling over to them, eyes expectant. “So what do you lot say?” The rest of the group, apparently, was in.  
  
“Let’s do it,” Arthur said, and the night erupted with cheers.  
  


********

  
Three weeks later on a hot July morning, Arthur and Merlin piled in with Gwaine and Percy while Gwen, Lance and Elyan followed behind in another car, and they began the drive toward Kent to take the Chunnel. All of them were in that post-exam euphoria with a whole summer ahead and the knowledge that sixth form was over for good.  
  
Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d done on history, but he felt confident he’d done okay in sociology and psychology. Of course Merlin had probably gotten As in all is courses, but that was to be expected. In any case, Arthur wasn’t going to think about college or uni or the fact that going to business school seemed a right bore, not this weekend. This weekend was for fun. And fuck if he didn’t deserve it.  
  
Around ten hours later, the seven of them, weary and bedraggled, arrived at their crap hotel to check in. They had three rooms and, as they stood in the tiny lobby trying to decide who would kip with who, Arthur’s stomach fluttered eagerly. He’d been looking forward to spending alone time with Merlin all day, restless in his skin.  
  
“I’ll room with Merls,” he said, unable to help it if he sounded impatient. He wasn’t about to stand and watch while they were spilt up and it was too late to make a move. A look of disappointment passed across Gwaine’s features, which made Arthur want to punch him.  
  
“Right, so that’s me with you two gits,” Gwaine told Percy and Elyan, “in the second room, and our lovebirds over here,” he gestured toward Lance and Gwen, “in the third.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Merlin said, the most chipper he’d seemed all day. It figured; he’d slept most of the drive.  
  
“So, what should we do?” Gwaine asked. “Are you all knackered or should we go out on the town?” While the rest of the group discussed their options, Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who shook his head imperceptibly.  
  
“I’m tired.” Arthur gave a huge yawn and stretched, wondering if he was overdoing it. “You lot go ahead.”  
  
“Yeah. Me too,” Merlin said. “Think I’ll call it an early one tonight.”  
  
“Are you sure? The Dutch girls await.” Gwaine elbowed Arthur in the side. He blushed, shook his head.  
  
“They’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow, then,” he said lamely, aware that Merlin was watching him and flushing all the brighter for it.  
  
“Sounds like a plan, mate. Those birds won’t know what hit ‘em, eh?”  
  
“Right,” Arthur said, feeling like a fool.  
  
The room was tiny, with two single beds pushed almost next to each other, divided only by a tall, utilitarian lamp. There was a closet-sized loo with no shower; they’d have to share with the others at the end of the hall. But none of that mattered. For the first time, well, ever, they were completely alone—no parents, no friends, in another country where being gay was, well, pretty fucking okay with most people.  
  
“I’m not really tired,” Arthur admitted when they’d closed the door and dropped their bags.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Merlin asked, “are you sure you don’t want to go take Gwaine up on his offer to pull some Dutch girls?” He was teasing, but there was an edge of real hurt to his voice.  
  
“You know I didn’t mean that. I was just . . . I was on the spot.”  
  
“Yeah. I know.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Arthur went to where Merlin was perched on the edge of one of the beds and sat down next to him. “You know I only want you. I’m not going to be doing any of that. Come on.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Seriously, Merls.” Arthur leaned over and kissed the tip of Merlin’s ear, then nuzzled into the skin of his neck just below where it was most ticklish. It never failed to make Merlin laugh and swat him away. Until tonight.  
  
“I’m tired,” Merlin said. “I think I’ll go to bed.”  
  
There it was, the brush off. Arthur pulled away, frustrated, already half-hard just from kissing Merlin’s neck and smelling him.  
  
“All right,” he said, standing up and going to his bag. He tried not to be hurt when Merlin disrobed and slipped under the covers, back turned toward him, but it was impossible. Knowing when he wasn’t welcome, Arthur turned out the light and climbed onto the other bed, shifting and trying to get comfortable. It was lumpy and rather hard, not at all like his mattress at home, and the sounds of the city outside the window just made him feel more alone.  
  
Minutes passed and Arthur wondered if this hadn’t been a horrible mistake.  
  
“Arth? You awake?”  
  
“Yeah.” Arthur shifted, trying to make out Merlin’s form in the darkness.  
  
Bed springs squeaked, and the sounds of rustling blankets, and then Arthur found himself welcoming Merlin into his tiny uncomfortable bed. He was weak with relief as he gathered Merlin into his arms.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m being a arse,” Merlin said, kissing him.  
  
“No, I’m the arse.”  
  
“I know it’s hard for you but sometimes . . . I just really wanna tell people . . .” The next few words were muffled into Arthur’s skin.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“I can’t say it again.”  
  
All of a sudden it hit him, what Merlin had said, what he’d said that day all those months ago—words that he’d never repeated since and that Arthur had never returned. Not that he hadn’t wanted to; he knew it as the one sure thing in his life.  
  
“I love you,” he said, whispering in Merlin’s ear. “I love you so much.” And it had been true for a very long time.  
  
Merlin’s mouth was on his, then, and he found himself pressed flat on his back, Merlin climbing on top. They kicked off their pants and lay together naked, cock sliding against cock, unable to stop kissing. Arthur held onto Merlin’s hips, gasping for breath as his orgasm built, their bodies slickened with sweat.  
  
“Say it again.” Merlin’s voice was hoarse.  
  
“I love you. I love you,” Arthur said as he tipped over the edge, pulsing against his belly, against Merlin’s. He clenched Merlin tighter and Merlin came with a soft cry, his body going rigid and then pliant, both of them breathing hard, protected in the darkness.  
  


********

  
The next day they met up in the late morning for breakfast and to do some sightseeing—all except for Percy, who’d apparently met a Dutch girl after all and spent the night who knows where.  
  
Amsterdam was cool, but after a while all the street corners started to look the same. As the only one with a map, Merlin served as their self-proclaimed tour guide, though Arthur had to yank him out of the way of a trolley car or a kamikaze bicyclist more than once, a task which proved harder the more coffee shops they visited.  
  
Arthur had never been so high in his life. The spliff was so much better than anything you could get in England for a similar price. They wound up with pockets full of Blueberry, Purple Haze, Silver Pearl, all of them giggling and aimless, not really knowing or caring where they went.  
  
“You’ve got to watch were you’re going, mate,” Arthur said, leaning into Merlin after another close call. The rest of the group was up ahead, and Merlin looked hot in his skinny jeans. Arthur couldn’t resist sliding a hand into one of the back pockets and giving Merlin’s arse a squeeze.  
  
“Yeah, I know. These bicycles are bloody mad,” Merlin said, smiling goofily. “It’s like being in a video game, dodging them.”  
  
Arthur risked a quick kiss to the side of Merlin’s face. “Do you think if you smile too much your face will freeze?”  
  
“I don’t know if it’s been scientifically documented,” Merlin giggled. “But I can’t stop.” He kissed Arthur back, their lips grazing, and Arthur let his tongue dart out to lick. Merlin laughed and swatted his arm, wiping his face. Arthur wanted to kiss him properly, loosened by the exhilaration of being high in a foreign city, so he tugged Merlin’s hand to stop him, letting the group go ahead and other pedestrians pass between them.  
  
Merlin’s mouth was salty from the frikandel he’d just eaten, but Arthur didn’t care.  
  
“You’re crazy,” Merlin said as they broke apart. They started to walk again, Merlin’s gaze focused on the map, and Arthur froze. Gwen stood about ten paces in front of them, the shock on her face evidence she’d seen everything. His stomach bottomed out, but she turned away quickly. Arthur withdrew his hand from Merlin’s back pocket.  
  
“Let’s catch up,” he said, feeling decidedly less stoned than he had a minute before and more than a little sick.  
  
Later that afternoon they split up; Merlin wanted to go to the Van Gogh museum, and Arthur, Lance, and Gwen came along with him while Elyan and Gwaine went to meet up with Percy and take a tour of the Heineken brewery.  
  
Since the incident in the morning, Arthur’d been in a constant state of nerves, snippy with Merlin and jumpy whenever Gwen looked at him. Merlin was hurt by his behaviour, and Arthur was instantly contrite, wanting to tell him why he was upset but not able to find a minute alone.  
  
He managed to avoid Gwen until Merlin and Lance wandered off to look at some portraits, leaving them in a room alone with Van Gogh’s later work. Arthur perused the pictures, not really knowing what he was looking at. He wasn’t big on modern art, and though the drugs made him appreciate the vibrant colours, he was still in a panic about what Gwen had seen.  
  
“This is a cool one, isn’t it?” Gwen asked, startling him. She gestured toward the painting of a wheat field with crows against a dramatic, cloud-filled sky.  
  
“Yeah, it is. A little freaky.”  
  
“Some people think this is Van Gogh’s last painting. You know, before he died. Almost like a premonition.”  
  
Arthur gave an involuntary shudder and looked at Gwen. Her eyes were a bit glazed, but something else unnerved him. The only way to deal with it was head on. “What you saw before with me and Merlin—”  
  
“Yeah?” Gwen asked.  
  
“It was nothing, I mean . . . not what you think.”  
  
“How do you know what I think?”  
  
“I don’t.” He swallowed, looked away.  
  
“Do you really think I haven’t noticed how you two are together? I mean, last night it was pretty obvious you guys were staying behind for a reason. At least to me,” Gwen said, her voice quiet. “It’s none of my business, but you should know that it’s okay . . . I really don’t think anyone would care. Maybe Gwaine would be a little disappointed.” She chuckled.  
  
Arthur couldn’t stop staring at his feet. It was beyond bizarre discussing Merlin with his ex-girlfriend, of all people. “It’s all . . . I don’t know. It’s complicated.”  
  
“Arthur,” she said, “look at me.”  
  
He did.  
  
“Oh,” she said, eyes widening. “You love him.”  
  
Arthur’s throat tightened. All he could do was nod.  
  
“Hey, don’t freak out. I won’t tell anyone. But I think it’s good.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean. I know it didn’t work out with us and I was arsed at you for a while, but I know you’re not a bad person. You deserve to be happy with someone.”  
  
“Thanks,” he said. He had the overwhelming urge to hug her, but didn’t because Merlin had suddenly appeared at his side.  
  
“Hey, what are you lot looking so serious about?” Merlin’s question was wary, his gaze focused on Arthur.  
  
“Oh, nothing, just talking about art,” Gwen said, giving Arthur a wink, obviously pleased with her pun.  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said, looking from her to Arthur. Gwen and Lance went on ahead, giving them a second to talk alone.  
  
“I’m sorry about being a twat before,” Arthur said, squeezing Merlin’s hand.  
  
“Yeah, well I’m used to it.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “But seriously, what was that all about?”  
  
“I’ll tell you later.”  
  
The rest of the day passed with more coffee shops and wandering, and soon night had fallen and they found themselves in the Red Light district, doing the touristy thing. Looking at the women in the windows made Arthur feel uncomfortable, and even worse was the way Percy and Gwaine talked about them, like they weren’t even people. It was something that might not have bothered him at one point, but now the comments about this one’s legs, or that one’s tits, seemed immature and rude. He was glad Gwen and Lance had decided against joining them.  
  
Merlin was particularly quiet.  
  
“See anyone you like?” Gwaine joked, slinging his arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Come on, mate, my treat. I know you’re hard up.”  
  
“Stop it, Gwaine.” Arthur shrugged him off. “You’re being a dick.”  
  
“Heya, I mean, they get paid for it don’t they. Unionised and everything. It’s not like anyone’s forcing them.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Merlin said. “A huge percentage of the women here are from poor countries in Eastern Europe, Africa, and the Southeast Asia. I saw something about it on the BBC. There’s a lot of human trafficking.”  
  
“Well, that’s not cool is it?” Gwaine said, sounding chagrined. “I thought it was all like women’s empowerment and shite over here.”  
  
Arthur snorted. Only Gwaine would think about prostitution as a form of women’s liberation.  
  
It wasn’t long after that they decided to abort the red light district and hit up another pub. Percy and Gwaine wound up pulling some German girls, and after a beer Arthur and Merlin decided to make their excuses, sure they wouldn’t be missed.  
  
The walk back to the hotel was pleasant, the streets quieter then they had been during the day. It was a humid night, the air mixed with the smells of the city—the dank canals, weed smoke wafting out of coffee shops, food. Arthur took Merlin’s hand and kissed his knuckles, then pulled him close, slipping an arm around Merlin’s waist. Merlin did the same. The people they passed didn’t even give them a second glance.  
  
“That was good of you before,” Merlin said, “telling Gwaine to fuck off when he was talking shit.”  
  
“Gwaine’s always talking shit.”  
  
“True. So,” Merlin said, turning his head and smiling, “have you had a good time here?”  
  
“Yeah. I bought way too much spliff, but I like being with you.”  
  
Merlin squeezed him. “Yeah.”  
  
“Gwen knows about us, you know,” Arthur said. “I talked to her today at the museum.”  
  
“I thought she might. Exes have that kind of radar.”  
  
Arthur sighed, scrubbed his free hand over his face. “She saw us kissing. No need for radar.”  
  
“Oh. Ohhh,” Merlin said, understanding dawning. “And . . . are you okay with it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said. He didn’t bother to mention that she’d promised to keep it a secret. “She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”  
  
“Well, it's _not_ that big of a deal, but that's great. Now I kinda feel bad for ever hating her.”  
  
“You hated Gwen?”  
  
“Well, perhaps hate is a strong word. Vehemently disliked works better. I was jealous, yeah.”  
  
“She and Lance are probably shagging as we speak.”  
  
“Hmm,” Merlin said, running his hand up Arthur’s side. “Now there’s an idea.” There was something in Merlin’s voice that made Arthur freeze mid-stride.  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, body already tightening with want and nerves. He’d imagined it so much recently, but hadn’t known how to broach the subject. And there were other worrisome considerations, like what if Merlin wanted him to be on the bottom? Arthur was pretty sure that wasn’t for him, at least not yet. He knew enough about gay sex to understand it could be painful, and that you had to be well prepared. Fuck, had he even brought lube? There was no way he was going into a Dutch store to ask, and he didn’t want to hurt Merlin . . .  
  
“Arthur? We don’t have to,” Merlin said, breaking through his thoughts. Arthur focussed on his best friend—his boyfriend—and shook his head.  
  
“No. I want to. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all,” he admitted.  
  
“Yeah. Me too. But I want to. I want you to. I even brought . . . stuff. ”  
  
Merlin’s preparedness was incredibly sexy—it did a great deal to override Arthur’s hesitation. And when Merlin gave him a shy smile, lowering his gaze and twining their fingers together, he knew it would be all right. He couldn’t get back to the hotel fast enough.

 

********

  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Arthur was breathless, undressing clumsily. He nearly fell over in his haste to rid himself of his jeans. Merlin was doing the same, both of them bumping into each other in the tiny space between the hotel beds.  
  
When Merlin had got his T-shirt over his head, he folded his arms across his chest. His dusky nipples stood out in relief against his pale skin. Arthur wanted to bite them.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” Merlin said. “Of course I’m sure.”  
  
“Right, right.”  
  
“Just let me find the lube.”  
  
The idea of lube was thrilling. Arthur lay on one of the tiny beds, stroking his cock and watching as Merlin bent and rifled through his bag. He gave a victorious _ah-ha_ , and then made his way back to Arthur, supplies in hand.  
  
Setting them to the side, he climbed onto the bed and squealed when Arthur flipped them around so he was on top. He braced himself on his arms, leaned down and kissed Merlin, letting their bodies align as their tongues slid together. It was almost like being a virgin, the excitement and slight fear setting his nerves on fire, making everything so much more intense. But Arthur couldn’t remember ever feeling so eager, even the first time. Maybe this was his second chance, maybe this was the way it should have been all along.  
  
Underneath him, Merlin was flushed, his breath coming quickly. He closed his eyes and Arthur had the urge to trace the dark lashes with his tongue. That would probably be weird, though, so he refrained and kissed Merlin’s neck instead, feeling the day’s worth of stubble against his lips and tongue and biting playfully. Merlin clung to him, pushing up as he rocked down, their erections rubbing against each other.  
  
“I can’t believe we’re going to do this,” Arthur said. “God, I want to fuck you.”  
  
“Okay, yeah.” Merlin reached blindly for the lube, and Arthur reared back, watching in fascination as Merlin drew up his legs and unscrewed the tube to slick his fingers. He began working one finger in, and Arthur stared, mouth open, wondering why they’d never done this before. Merlin’s tiny furled hole was as dark as his cockhead, and Arthur ached with wanting. It was about the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen.  
  
He lay down next to Merlin, kissed him, letting his hand drift down to where Merlin was now moving two fingers into his hole, circling around the entrance. Merlin gasped.  
  
“Do you wanna—”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said, letting one finger slip inside. Merlin was soft like velvet, curling like a hot tongue around him. He felt the muscle constrict tightly and wondered how his cock would ever fit.  
  
“Here,” Merlin said, squeezing more lube between his legs.  
  
It didn’t take long before Arthur was breeching Merlin with another finger, his other hand moving over Merlin’s erection, his own hips shifting against the bed. He was so hard and just wanted to get inside.  
  
“Okay,” Merlin said. “I think I’m ready. Just go slow. You’re . . . big.”  
  
“Bigger than Leon?”  
  
“Arthur.” Merlin looked at him crossly.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, not really sorry. “Can I take that as a yes?”  
  
“You’re such a prat. _Yes_ , just fuck me.”  
  
Once Arthur had sheathed himself with the necessary evil of the condom, he moved behind Merlin into a spooning position, knowing he was likely to last longer if he couldn’t thrust to full depth. Merlin wriggled so that his arse was flush against Arthur’s cock, and then lifted his top leg, shifting so it draped back over Arthur’s.  
  
Arthur aimed his erection at Merlin’s hole and pressed forward, biting his lip at the resistance he found. The nerves were back again. He froze on the brink, imagining how it would hurt, but not wanting to stop, either.  
  
“It’s okay,” Merlin said, craning his neck for a kiss. Arthur pushed inside as their mouths met, tongues tangling around a mutual groan.  
  
It was like nothing he’d ever felt. Nothing could have prepared him for the tightness, the heat that made him want to snap his hips and impale Merlin with his cock.  
  
“Oh God,” he said, balls already drawing up. He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t find some distraction. Frantically, he searched his mind for football stats, but nothing could draw him out of them moment.  
  
It didn’t help that Merlin was so bloody gorgeous. His face was flushed, eyes half closed, hand working his erection in unhurried strokes. Arthur gave him another sloppy kiss and reached to glide his fingers over Merlin’s, shifting his hips to drive himself deeper. Merlin moaned in what Arthur hoped was pleasure.  
  
It was like being consumed, Arthur thought, as he started to thrust, each pass making his toes curl. He hugged Merlin to him, touching and kissing wherever he could reach, so aware of where they were joined, where he was fucking Merlin, eyes drawn down there, marvelling at the sight. He had to pull out twice to stop himself from coming, but he couldn’t stay out long, needing Merlin’s heat, his mouth, to feel his sweat-slicked skin and hear him moan.  
  
Merlin pushed back onto him, rolling his hips, and that was too much for Arthur, he lost his mind, lifting Merlin’s leg and thrusting as deep as he could go, coming with spasms that rocked his body, made him shake. As he settled down, he noticed Merlin was still breathing hard, still pulling at himself frantically, so Arthur reached down to help, their hands working together as Merlin found his release, orgasm jerking him forward so that Arthur’s softening cock slipped from his body.  
  
“I love you,” Arthur said in a daze, still canting his hips, licking the salty skin under Merlin’s ear. He couldn’t stop touching Merlin. His hand drifted down to Merlin’s hole and he pressed one finger inside, the loosened muscles accepting him more easily. Merlin sighed, eyes closing as he squeezed the last of the come from his cock.  
  
Arthur couldn’t move. He was vaguely aware that he should get rid of the condom and clean himself up, but standing seemed impossible. Merlin seemed to agree, turning around and slinging his arm across Arthur’s chest, nuzzling into the crease of his neck. They lay without speaking as their breathing evened out. Arthur kissed Merlin’s sweaty head and held him close, thinking there was no place in the world he’d rather be. Here in Amsterdam it felt like they could do this, really do this.  
  
That night, Merlin awoke shouting, jarring Arthur in the side with his elbow.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Arthur shot up, reached for Merlin where he was huddled over himself in the dark. Merlin settled back against his chest, still shuddering.  
  
“It was . . .” His heart pounded under Arthur’s hand.  
  
“Bad dream?”  
  
“Yeah,” Merlin said. His body gradually began to relax, breathing evening out.  
  
“You wanna talk about it?”  
  
“No, it was just a dream.”  
  
Arthur kissed his temple, feeling himself start to drift again.  
  
“I’m just so glad you’re here,” Merlin said.  
  
Arthur smiled into Merlin’s messy hair. “Me too.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Arthur swallowed a mouthful of beer, eyes wide and focussed on the computer screen in front of him and Merlin.  
  
He’d never seen anything like what the two men were doing, and a mixture of arousal, shame, and fascination overcame him as the larger, dark-haired man flipped the slimmer blond onto his back and pulled him up by the haunches, exposing his hairless arsehole. The blond man keened as he was breached with first one, then two, thick fingers.  
  
This much, Arthur and Merlin had done. Well, Arthur had done to Merlin. But instead of working his cock inside after the stretch, the dark-haired man leaned down and licked around his fingers, tonguing the blond’s hole until the slighter man bucked in pleasure beneath him. Arthur could barely make out what was going on, but soon the larger man had stopped fucking his partner with his fingers and was now mouthing at his arsehole with vigour. It was almost like going down on a girl—something Arthur had never really enjoyed—but seemed dirtier . . . somehow hotter. Uncomfortable and warm, Arthur squirmed on the bed, hyper-aware of Merlin sitting next to him, the tension coiling between them.  
  
Merlin was aroused. His breathing was heavy, and Arthur could make out the line of his erection against his thigh. Since their trip to Amsterdam, Merlin had wanted to show Arthur some of his favourite videos, but while Arthur had been curious, he’d resisted. A part of him wondered if maybe it was only Merlin who turned him on, not men in general, and he hadn’t exactly been keen to find out. Today, though, they’d been bored hanging out and Merlin had suggested it again, so Arthur had agreed. It seemed a bit hypocritical to be having sex with a bloke and refuse to watch gay porn.  
  
Yeah, he was pretty sure he liked it.  
  
He took another gulp from the bottle and looked back at the screen. The dark-haired man was whispering filthy things, pressing the blond’s legs back almost beyond his ears, folding him in half to get at his arse. The camera angle changed and now Arthur could see the tongue lapping around the hole before pressing inside, darting to tease around the furl as the blond shook and moaned, his hand seeking out the erection flush against his belly.  
  
What must it be like, tasting down there? Or having a tongue on your own arse, and in it? Instead of being disgusted, Arthur was fascinated, his own dick hard and begging for attention. He palmed himself surreptitiously, both hoping and dreading Merlin would notice. Never having watched porn with anyone before, he wasn’t sure of the protocol . . . was Merlin expecting Arthur to do what the two men were doing?  
  
“So what do you think?”  
  
Merlin’s voice was hoarse in his ear, and Arthur closed his eyes and nodded, unable to reply.  
  
“I’ll take that as a good sign.” Merlin laughed, his hand travelling over to where Arthur needed to be touched.  
  
The men on the computer had started fucking now, the larger man fucking the blond with long, slow strokes and _oh yeahs_ and slaps to the arse; the camera zoomed in on the hard cock sliding inside. Arthur realized at some point he was breathing hard as Merlin caressed the length of Arthur’s erection through his shorts.  
  
Arthur could barely focus, eyes bleary with arousal as he turned to Merlin and met his mouth in an awkward kiss.  
  
After that it was fumbling desperation. Arthur wanted . . . no, needed, to come, and the sounds of the men fucking in the background only fuelled his desire. Before a minute had passed, Merlin was coming in Arthur’s fist and Arthur was gasping, his balls tightening. Merlin shocked him by taking his cock into his mouth just as he started to come, sucking on the head as he spurted and thrust helplessly.  
  
When it was over, Arthur flopped down on Merlin’s bed, breathless.  
  
“Would you ever want . . . to do that sometime?” After cleaning himself up, Merlin had curled up beside him, resting his head on Arthur’s stomach and looking up at him.  
  
“You mean, like, to you?” It didn’t seem like a terrible idea.  
  
“Yeah. Or I could to you.” Merlin paused and bit his lip.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“I was wondering if you’d be interested in letting me . . . How do you feel about me being . . . You see, I’ve never . . .”  
  
The broken sentences and Merlin’s red face at first confused Arthur. Then comprehension dawned. Merlin wasn’t only talking about the arse-licking. “You’ve never . . . been on top?”  
  
Merlin’s blush intensified. He shook his head and turned his gaze to the ceiling. “No.”  
  
They were silent for a while, Arthur’s hands running through Merlin’s hair as his brain tried to process the request. Merlin wanted to fuck him, and he didn’t know exactly how he felt about the prospect.  
  
Since they’d first had sex, their relationship had grown more serious. Arthur wanted to spend every minute with Merlin, and with the convenience of their long-standing friendship, they spent most nights at each other’s houses. The summer was speeding by and they were already making plans for the following year. Of course they’d arranged to room together—a two-room flatshare through campus housing.  
  
But after the initial excitement had worn off and reality had sunk in, Arthur realized what the move meant. They weren’t just friends anymore, and moving in together suddenly took on a whole new level of importance. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to live with Merlin; it was just that moving to Edinburgh and being _out_ as proper boyfriends had felt so far away. He’d imagined it as a great adventure, a bid for freedom from York and his father and the expectations that had always weighed heavily on his shoulders. Now that the move was imminent—in a month they’d be packing their things and moving—he was terrified.  
  
He hated that he worried about what people thought, but he did. It was one thing for Gwen to know about him and Merlin; strangely enough, she’d been brilliant about the whole thing from the very beginning. But for strangers to know, for new classmates and old classmates and parents . . . They weren’t on vacation anymore. This was real life.  
  
What if word got back to his father somehow? What if Aunt Viv found out and told him? And then there was Hunith. Already Arthur could tell that the lies were wearing on Merlin’s relationship with her. She suspected something, Arthur was sure, and Merlin had always been honest with his mum. Keeping the truth from her was something he didn’t enjoy, but still he did it for Arthur’s sake.  
  
Finally, there was the prospect of uni. Arthur had passed his A-levels, and received his reading lists, yet he was completely unenthusiastic about the prospect of three more years in school. The business programme was one of the best in the country, and it would set him up as a competitive player for some corporate desk job he didn’t want.  
  
Everything was changing so fast, piling up like a car crash on the motorway, and Arthur wasn’t sure he was ready for any of it.  
  
“Arth?” Merlin’s voice cut through Arthur’s thoughts, startling him. He barely recalled what they’d been talking about.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Never mind. You don’t want to; it’s totally fine.” There was a tension in Merlin’s voice that jogged Arthur’s memory.  
  
“No, no,” he said, struggling to prop himself up so he could better see Merlin’s face. The other boy was looking at him with his wide, serious eyes. Arthur’s gut fluttered with that feeling, the love that made him nervy and excited and erased everything but Merlin. He leaned down and kissed the tip of Merlin’s nose. “I’ll let you. Okay? I . . . we’ll definitely try.”  
  
Merlin’s expression was still troubled, so Arthur kissed him again, this time full on the lips.  
  
“I want to try.”

********

  
The subject didn’t come up again for a few more days. But one evening they were watching telly at Arthur’s and Merlin looked over at him curiously.  
  
“What?” Arthur said, scrubbing at his face for any sauce that might have been left behind after his last bite of curry.  
  
Merlin bit his lower lip, a sure sign he was nervous, and glanced back at the telly, pretending to be immersed in the Catherine Tate show. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Arthur inhaled a deep breath. His father wasn’t due home for at least two hours and Morgana was staying the night with Gwen. They had the place to themselves.  
  
“You wanna mess around?” Arthur asked. As if either of them needed prodding. They were on each other in a flash, Merlin straddling his lap and kissing him like their lives depended on it.  
  
“Upstairs,” Arthur gasped, hands on Merlin’s rolling hips.  
  
Safely inside Arthur’s room, they didn’t waste any time scrabbling out of their clothes and onto Arthur’s bed. Pinning Merlin down with his hands above his head, Arthur kissed him, sliding their cocks together. It was amazing, how rock hard he was already just from kissing and the prospect of what was to come. He was already considering lube and condoms when Merlin’s body grew still beneath him.  
  
Arthur was about to ask what was wrong when he felt it—Merlin’s hand caressing his arse, sliding to dip into the crease right above his hole. A finger rubbed tentatively on the sensitive skin and Arthur screwed his eyes shut. Merlin had never touched him like this before, but since their talk—if it could even be called a talk—Arthur had experimented whilst he was wanking, just to see what it was like. He’d come harder than he’d ever come from a solo performance.  
  
Merlin was teasing around his hole with two fingers, pressing one just barely inside. Arthur tensed, squeezing his arse, his heart stuttering against his ribs as he tried to relax. This was Merlin, not some stranger. Arthur trusted him. He let out a gusty breath.  
  
“Arth?”  
  
Without another word, Arthur rolled off of Merlin and onto his belly, pushing his hips up and fisting the sheets, waiting in silent assent.  
  
There was some rustling, and Arthur heard the bottle of lube being unlatched, then felt a shaky kiss pressed to his shoulder as Merlin’s fingers slipped down into his crack. Arthur grit his teeth against the chill of the lube, but it quickly warmed, and he let out a nervous sigh as Merlin’s finger breached him for the first time.  
  
It didn’t hurt so much as feel strange. Arthur closed his eyes as Merlin’s finger went deeper, pushing into his arse slowly, almost painfully so. Once the initial surprise of the intrusion was over, he shifted his hips back, gasping when Merlin touched someplace inside him that sent a jolt through his cock, firming it beneath him. He circled his hips, humping into the mattress, wanting the feeling again.  
  
“There,” Merlin said, kissing his neck and the side of his face. Arthur turned his head to get a kiss on the lips and was rewarded with Merlin’s mouth on his and another finger pressing inside to join its mate. This time, it did burn. Arthur bit back a hiss, focussing on Merlin’s mouth on his, the soothing touch of Merlin’s free hand on his back and arse.  
  
“You’re so hot,” Merlin said, voice breathy at his ear. Arthur had lost all sense of time and place, lost in the sensation of Merlin’s fingers, the pain and pleasure of it melding into one thing that almost made the arousal unbearable. Now he understood why Merlin liked this so much, went to pieces under his hands and on his cock. It was incredible, and Arthur wanted more.  
  
When he heard the telltale sound of Merlin wanking, slick skin on skin, he groaned. He had to look and turned his head to watch the dark head of Merlin’s cock appear and disappear in a slide through his fist, so near the crack of Arthur’s arse. Merlin’s eyes were focussed on where his other hand was buried; it didn’t take a genius to guess what he was imagining.  
  
“Can I?” Merlin gasped when he realized Arthur was watching. “Please?”  
  
Arthur had never seen Merlin so desperate; despite his slight misgivings he nodded, feeling a tightening in his belly as Merlin withdrew his fingers.  
  
“I’ll go slow,” Merlin was babbling into his ear. “Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop. I promise.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Arthur breathed deeply as he heard the foil tear, the squelch of more lube, and then Merlin’s blunt cock was pressing on the place where he was sore and empty. He ground his teeth as the tip pushed inside.  
  
This was much different from Merlin’s slim fingers. It hurt, a burning stretch that punched Arthur deep in the gut, made him feel like he was being torn in two. Merlin gasped behind him, sucking in air like he couldn’t breathe. He was trying to hold back, trying not to thrust, and Arthur knew how impossible it was to be still in such tight, perfect heat.  
  
“Fuck. Oh God,” Merlin said. “You feel so good.” He ran a soothing hand up Arthur’s spine, and the tears in Arthur’s eyes spilled over. So Merlin wouldn’t see, he buried his head in his arms and tried to stay calm. Another press and the cock moved deeper inside him. Arthur couldn’t relax even though he knew it was the only way to stop the pain.  
  
His breath was coming in short pants now, and Merlin withdrew slightly before filling him completely. Arthur couldn’t hold back a grunt, burying his head into the pillow as Merlin started to fuck him with long strokes that stole his ability to think even as the pain began to bloom and blossom into something else, something he couldn’t quite name.  
  
Arthur wasn’t even sure why he was still crying now it had stopped hurting. He’d just never felt so completely taken over before, so many emotions making him dizzy. Like he was all body, unable to think about anything but this moment, being owned. Arthur’s cock start to harden again. Merlin was whispering tender things at his back, kissing him, touching him as his thrusts picked up speed.  
  
They were both too far gone to hear the first knock on the door. But when Arthur heard his father calling him with a note of confusion and irritation in his voice, Arthur panicked.  
  
Merlin froze on top of him, cock still stuck in his arse.  
  
“Arthur? Your aunt is one the phone and wishes to speak with you.”  
  
“Be there in a sec,” Arthur ground out, trying to control his voice as he honed in on the doorknob, praying it wouldn’t turn. He didn’t think he’d locked it. They’d gotten too careless, fucking around whenever they had a moment alone. It could never happen again.  
  
From then on everything was a blur. Somehow they managed to scramble apart and get dressed quickly, neither of them speaking. Arthur’s heart beat like a hummingbird’s, his blood whirling through his body, making him dizzy and nauseous as another knock startled him just as he’d gotten his shirt on.  
  
“What in the devil are you doing in there?” Uther demanded.  
  
Arthur whirled around to see Merlin, face ashen, regarding the door as if it led straight to the gallows.  
  
Without wasting another moment, Arthur opened the door, hoping his room didn’t smell like sex and that Merlin had had the foresight to stow away the lube and condoms. He didn’t have to worry about his hard-on; that had shrivelled at the first sound of his father’s voice. The older man was standing with his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed, glancing from Merlin to Arthur and then back again.  
  
“Sorry,” Arthur said, unable to think of any sort of believable excuse. “We . . .”  
  
“ . . . fell asleep,” Merlin supplied. Arthur nodded as the sickness that had begun in his belly coiled out thorough his whole body.  
  
His father didn’t appear convinced, jaw tensing as he handed Arthur the phone. “Merlin has been here quite enough recently. He should go home so you can speak with your aunt.”  
  
Instead of protesting, Arthur gave a nod of assent, unable to look at Merlin. He felt so incredibly dirty and wrong, like his life was spinning out of control. Now his father was looking at him like he was some sort of disgusting creature dredged from the bottom of the sea.  
  
He took the phone and retreated back into his room.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“There’s my lad,” she said, her voice confused. “Is everything all right?”  
  
“Um. Yeah. I . . . can I call you back tomorrow?” His arse stung when he sat on the bed, an aching reminder that sent shame coursing through him. He was a bloody poof.  
  
“Of course. I just wanted to see if you and Morgana were still coming on the weekend.”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said. “We’re planning on it.”  
  
They spoke briefly for another minute; all the while Arthur tried to quell his panic as he half-listened and gave rote answers. When they finally hung up, Arthur heard a noise and turned, surprised to see Merlin standing there, toeing the floor.  
  
“I didn’t want to go until I knew you were okay,” Merlin said.  
  
Arthur swallowed, eyes darting out to the hallway that was now empty. He shook his head. “You’ve got to go.”  
  
“Arth—”  
  
“Go, Merlin. Now.” He felt trembly all over, sick about the look of dejection on Merlin’s face, but angry, too. If Merlin hadn’t wanted to get off so bad this wouldn’t have happened. Jesus, his father could have walked in on them! And now he had to do damage control so Uther wouldn’t think anything _untoward_ had been going on.  
  
Once Merlin left, Arthur collapsed onto his bed, the strength in his legs finally giving out.  
  
Days passed. Merlin called him and left messages, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. He was still shaken, even though he knew it wasn’t really Merlin’s fault. While his father never said anything directly, Arthur knew he suspected. It was the way he looked at Arthur, the way he made offhand comments about Arthur finding a new girlfriend and not seeing Merlin so much. Agreeing noncommittally, Arthur kept his head down and packed for the trip to Viv’s.  
  
Scotland was not the balm it usually was to Arthur’s sour mood. He snapped at Viv and Morgana and locked himself in his room, listening to music and trying not to think.  
  
By the time they were on their way home from Edinburgh, the anger and fear that had overruled Arthur’s emotions when they’d almost been caught had faded to be replaced with a hollow loneliness. The only thing that would make it better was Merlin’s voice.  
  
As soon as he was back in his room, he rang Merlin, who surprised him by answering right away.  
  
“I think we need to talk,” Merlin said before he could speak.  
  
“Yeah. That’s why I called. I’m—”  
  
“Not on the phone. Can you come over? My mum's out.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Arthur resisted running the distance to Merlin’s house, but by the time he arrived, his heart was pounding as though he had. Merlin waited for him on the front steps looking like he hadn’t slept, still in his pyjamas at well past noon. He regarded Arthur cautiously as he approached, and Arthur’s throat tightened.  
  
“Hey,” he said, taking a seat next to Merlin, inhaling the scent he’d missed.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
For a minute, he almost felt normal, but then he realized something was off. Merlin didn’t smile at him.  
  
Neither of them spoke. Then Arthur felt Merlin’s hand on his. Automatically, his eyes darted around the street, checking for witnesses before he even realized what he was doing. Merlin sighed, withdrawing his hand. The loss made Arthur wince.  
  
“I don’t want this to be dramatic,” Merlin said, his voice thick. “But I don’t think I can do this anymore.”  
  
“What?” Merlin’s words hit Arthur like he’d been pummelled right in the gut, along with the realisation Merlin had called him over to end it.  
  
“The way you _looked_ at me, Arth. Like you hated me. Like I was some sort of stranger. You just told me to go, like we weren’t in it together. Bloody hell, did you even give a toss how I felt? You know how the last couple months have been for me . . . but all you care about is yourself.”  
  
Arthur swallowed around the bile that rose in his throat at Merlin’s words. His eyes burned. It wasn’t true. He did care about Merlin, about what he’d been through with Balinor’s death, how hard it was for him to lie. Still, he didn’t understand why they couldn’t just carry on as they had been, at least for a while. “I don’t only care about myself. But just think about what this means for me. For us both,” he corrected. “My father—”  
  
“You’re not ready for this. Fuck it.” Merlin surprised him by standing up and kicking the stairs, sending out reverberations that rattled Arthur’s bones. “I knew this would happen, but I let myself . . . I let myself do it anyway.” The last words were almost a whisper. When Merlin looked at Arthur again, he was crying.  
  
“I . . . I’m sorry. I know you’re upset but I don’t want to lose you,” Arthur said, not caring anymore if he sounded like he was begging. “I’m not ready to tell my father. Jesus, Merlin, don’t you know how he is?”  
  
“It’s not just Uther. Come off it, you haven’t told anyone, even our friends. Even Gwaine, and he hits on me _all the time._ Doesn’t that piss you off?”  
  
It did, but Arthur had dealt with it secure in the knowledge that Merlin loved him. Maybe Merlin didn’t see it that way. “Gwen—”  
  
Merlin cut him off. “The only reason Gwen knows is because she saw us kiss. If it were up to you, no one would know. I’d just be your dirty little secret, because God forbid anyone find out that Arthur Pendragon is a poof.”  
  
Arthur glanced around again, unnerved by Merlin’s anger. “Keep your voice down.”  
  
“That’s exactly what I mean. I don’t _want_ to keep my voice down,” Merlin shot back. He was staring Arthur down, a look of conviction on his face that Arthur had never seen before.  
  
“You told me when we started you wouldn’t pressure me,” Arthur said, desperate. Part of what Merlin was saying was right, but at the same time, why couldn’t Merlin wait until he was ready? Merlin had had his whole life to come to terms with liking blokes. Didn’t he understand how confusing it was for Arthur?  
  
Merlin crossed his arms, but his face softened. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could wait forever for you . . . and maybe I could. Maybe if I knew you’d tell him someday. If I could tell my mum. But right now . . .” He trailed off, as if daring Arthur to contradict him.  
  
The words bubbled in Arthur’s throat, a promise he wanted to make but couldn’t . . . not when it would be a lie. He owed Merlin the truth of that, at least.  
  
“I don’t want this to be over,” was all he could manage.  
  
“I can’t go on like this, like this is a dirty secret. I can't.”  
  
“You’re my best friend.” Arthur could barely keep it together. The wetness on his face embarrassed him and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Weak. Just like his father thought.  
  
“Then be with me.”  
  
When he looked up at Merlin, there was nothing there but desolation, no hope, despite his words. Like he already knew what Arthur would say. “I can’t hide who I am anymore, Arth. Not even for you,” Merlin said.  
  
“But we can still be friends, right?” Even as he asked the question, he saw the shutters draw across Merlin’s face.  
  
“I think I need some time to think.”  
  
So that was it, then. Not knowing what else to say, Arthur stood, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out. They regarded each other for a moment that stretched on and on, the space between them filling with memories and words left unspoken. Arthur knew right then he had no reason to go to uni. He wouldn’t be rooming with Merlin. They wouldn’t be starting new lives together. There was nothing, only this devastating knowledge he’d just lost his best friend.  
  


********

  
The rest of the summer passed in slow misery. Arthur and Merlin didn’t speak except when Arthur called Merlin to say he wouldn’t be attending uni in the fall and that Merlin would have to find another roommate. When Arthur finally worked up the courage to tell his father he’d decided to defer his enrollment, Uther had immediately started in again on police training, and Arthur didn’t even have the heart to resist. He saw his life unfolding before him as a series of detached events, none of which he had any say over. The trouble was, he didn’t know what he did want.  
  
His leg was feeling better, though—stronger—so he spent a couple hours each day doing weights and running, wondering if there was any way he could get back in the game. It gave him something to work for, took his mind off missing Merlin. It wasn’t the sex he missed—though of course he missed that—it was just being with Merlin, hanging out and doing shite things, listening to Merlin play his trumpet. Hearing him laugh. Sure, maybe they’d be friends again one day once all this was behind them, but things would never be the same. Perhaps this was what losing a limb felt like; rationally, he knew Merlin was gone, that they were through, but the phantom pain followed him everywhere he went. He considered going on the pull, finding someone else to shag to take his mind off of it, but even thinking about that seemed like a betrayal.  
  
Sometimes he ran past Merlin’s house, unable to stop himself from looking for signs of life. Once he caught a glimpse of Hunith and Merlin carrying bags from the car, probably just home from a shopping trip. They were laughing about something and didn’t notice him. How could Merlin be laughing, be happy, when nothing seemed right anymore? Or didn’t he care?  
  
On the day before Gwen left for London, she rang him and invited him out to the Gallery, one of York’s most popular dance clubs, for a final night on the town.  
  
“I’m not really feeling up to it,” Arthur told her, after he’d suffered hearing her chatter on about the move and the apartment she and Lance had found in Camden, so close to the tube he wouldn’t believe it for the price. Oh, and they were thinking about getting a  
cat . . .  
  
“You should come, Arthur. It’s the last hurrah for us. And it would mean a lot for you to be there. For _some people_.”  
  
Arthur snorted. “If you’re insinuating Merlin will be happy to see me, you’re wrong.”  
  
Gwen sighed on the end of the line. “Arthur . . . Merlin’s much more upset about this than you think.”  
  
Even though he still wasn’t completely comfortable talking about Merlin with Gwen, it felt good to hear that. He wanted to believe Merlin missed him, as selfish as it was.  
  
“I doubt it,” he said, just to be stubborn.  
  
Another frustrated sigh and a “just come” later, Arthur found himself staring into his closet, trying to pick out something to wear. If all the sex didn’t make him gay, he thought ruefully, this did.  
  
Fuck it, he might as well go to say goodbye. It wasn’t just Merlin leaving, after all—and he didn’t own the club. If he didn’t want to see Arthur, he didn’t have to talk to him; it was that simple.  
  
Still, as he queued up to be let it at half-ten, it didn’t seem simple at all. Suddenly the tight jeans and T-shirt he’d selected made him self-conscious; what if Merlin thought Arthur had dressed up just for him? It wouldn’t exactly be a stretch, since Merlin had picked out the jeans for Arthur, claiming they made his arse look good. Like a ripe peach, Merlin had said, whispering in the dressing room so no one else could hear. Arthur’d dropped eighty quid on the bloody things right then, more than anyone should ever have to pay for a pair of jeans. It was worth it, though.  
  
The queue of loud girls and lads finally started to move, and Arthur paid his admission, got his bracelet, and headed into the thrumming heartbeat of the club.  
  
It was crowded almost to capacity, and Arthur prowled the three levels keeping an eye out for familiar faces and getting hit on more than once. There were a lot of kids from college whom he recognized, most of them drunk and shiny with sweat from dancing. He let himself be led to the floor by a girl from his class, and did his best to get into it, but even though her shirt gave him a pretty fantastic view of jiggling cleavage, he didn’t respond to her at all. The way she groped his arse made him uncomfortable, and after the song ended he made his excuses, drawing his mobile from his back pocket.  
  
 _Where r u?_ He texted Gwen, tired of wandering around lost in a sea of bodies.  
  
His mobile buzzed seconds later. _2nd floor. Rt side._  
  
Making his way down to the second floor from the third, Arthur ran into another mate from school, then another. Apparently his entire sixth form class was here tonight. He stopped by the bar for another beer and did a shot to numb his nerves, then made his way in the general direction Gwen had indicated. The music was awful down here, too poppy and electronic, but the rest of the crowd seemed to be having a blast. He finally caught a glimpse of Gwen wearing a shiny blue top, dancing with a couple of girls he barely knew . . . and then his brain short-circuited.  
  
At first he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, but then the blood rushed back to his head, carrying with it the realization that Gwaine and Merlin were dancing together—not just dancing, grinding—and Merlin was laughing, smiling at Gwaine like he was thrilled to be in his arms.  
  
Rage and hurt thundered through Arthur. He clenched the bottle in his hand, frozen and unable to tear his eyes away until Gwaine leaned forward and kissed Merlin, arms curling round him possessively. _That cunt._ Arthur was about to tear through the crowd and pummel Gwaine when he stopped short, realising Merlin wasn’t his anymore. He could do what he liked, and apparently what he liked was Gwaine. Self-protective instincts kicking in, Arthur started to back away, hoping to God they wouldn’t see him as the space between them filled with dancing couples.  
  
He turned on his heel and left the club, and it was only then he noticed his hand was bleeding. Somehow during his exit he’d broken his beer bottle and it had cut him deeply, right in the meat of his palm, and blood was a dripping dark trail down his fingers. He stood, shaking with adrenaline, looking for someplace to dispose of the glass.  
  
“Heya, you all right?” the bouncer asked as he tossed the bottle into the bin.  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said, nodding, even though he felt like he was going to be sick. How could Merlin do this to him? Gwaine, even though he was a wanker, was still one of Arthur’s best mates. It was like Gwen and Lance all over again, but much, much worse. Pain speared through him at the thought that Merlin had probably known Arthur would be here tonight, that maybe he'd _wanted_ Arthur to see.  
  
And Gwaine, that fucker. But Gwaine had never known, he reminded himself. The rationalisation didn’t help; he didn’t want to be rational. He wanted to be pissed and fucking kick the shit out of someone.  
  
He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. Arthur took off at a run, which did nothing for his hurt hand; the wound that he’d first not even noticed was throbbing, a dull ache that pounded in time with his footfalls. He ran until he felt his lungs might burst. Slowing to a stop, he found a bench near an ancient stone chapel and sank down on it to catch his breath. The thick mossy air oppressed him, and the dark church did nothing to lighten the weight on his shoulders. He had to get the fuck out of this town.  
  
Though it was late to be calling his aunt, he did anyway, dialling her number with hands that shook with adrenaline.  
  
“Arthur?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry if I woke you.”  
  
“It’s all right, lad. Haven’t gone to sleep yet. Is everything okay?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“What happened?” The motherly concern in her voice was the thing that finally broke him. The tears he’d held back for so long finally burst forth, streaming down his face and dripping onto the cobblestones below. He sobbed, unable to muster any embarrassment about it. He didn’t care if anyone saw him, didn’t care about anything. Viv’s voice was higher now, worried.  
  
“What’s the matter?”  
  
“Can I come stay with you?” Arthur snuffled against his good hand, feeling like a child.

  


  
“Of course. My flat is yours, you know that.” She paused, and when she spoke again it was with a note of caution. “I get the feeling you’re not asking about spending the weekend.”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur said. “I’d like to stay for a while, if I can.”  
  
“Have you told your father?”  
  
“Not yet.” He knew he should do something about his hand, so he pressed it against his jeans to stop the bleeding, not caring if he ruined them.  
  
“Arthur, what happened?”  
  
“I . . . shit. I don’t know. I was seeing someone and it turns out they fancy someone else. I just have to get away from here for a while.” A couple passed by, giving Arthur a strange look before walking on.  
  
“Who?” Viv asked, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know you were dating a new girl.”  
  
For a moment he considered lying. It would be so easy: make up a girl, Viv would never know. But for some reason, he didn’t want that.  
  
“It wasn’t a girl. It was Merlin.” He grit his teeth, waiting for the laugh of disbelief, a snort of derision.  
  
“Oh, Arthur,” she said, her voice soft with understanding.  
  
“Fuck.” He scrubbed his bloodied hand through his hair. “Aunt Viv. I think I’m gay.”


	8. Chapter Eight

_Play direct_ , Arthur chanted to himself, eyes darting across the pitch to locate Gilli, who was wide open on the other end. Their opponents had been easily distracted and confused through much of the game, but after halftime they’d regrouped, and now the offense had picked up and was coming in strong. The score was tied 1-1, and Arthur’s team had possession as the clock ticked.  
  
At the first touch he looked again to make the pass, but Gilli had moved out of range and no one was open except Ethan. With the opposing team’s attacking midfielder bearing down on him, Arthur made contact with his instep and sprinted out of the way to receive again, keeping his eyes scanning the length of the pitch. In an instant he saw it, the way the right-back was miles out of his position and the centre-back was poised to drift out of his to shore up the defence. He took a breath and feinted right, eyes on the centre-back and, as soon as he moved, punted the ball into the opening space while Gilli shot down the left side, shaking off the chasing opposition and dancing around the scrambling right-back to fire the ball into the top corner of the net just as time was called.  
  
“Risky play out there, Pendragon,” Coach Kilgharrah said in his thick, rolling brogue as Arthur reached the sideline, grabbing his sports drink. A few members of his team slapped his back and shoulders, and Arthur accepted the praise with equanimity. It wouldn’t do to be too pleased with himself; he’d only joined the Albion Knights three months before, and he knew a couple of the veteran players resented him, especially the centre mid, Mackearnan. He was a real arse, had rubbed Arthur the wrong way from day one, making snide comments and calling him ‘Princess’ because of his name and blond hair. Arthur had originally wanted his position, but the opening had been for a defensive midfielder, and he’d gladly taken it.  
  
“They left it open,” Arthur replied with a shrug. Even so, he blushed. It had been a hotshot move, and he knew it.  
  
“It’s well we were at the end of play, laddie, or else we might’ve been in trouble in the back.”  
  
“I took a chance, Coach.” They were only in the Saturday Amateur League, but in his younger years Coach K had been on the coaching staff of Hearts, and he knew his shit, though now he must be pushing eighty, at least. The only feature that didn’t betray his years was his eyes, which were a sharp blue.  
  
“Aye, you’re a wee bit radge.” The insult was delivered with Coach's distinctive mix of good-humour and seriousness.  
  
“I’ve been called worse,” Arthur agreed, sitting down to undo his shin guards. The rest of the team had already begun filtering off the pitch, heading toward the pub, but Arthur stayed behind to stretch his legs, feeling the soreness in his muscles and waiting for the twinge of pain in his knee. It seemed to be okay, though. He rubbed at it and smiled, gazing up at the sky. April in Scotland was rather nice when it wasn’t rainy and cold.  
  
“You’re too good for the likes of this team,” Coach said, his deep voice startling Arthur, who’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He turned his head to see the old man standing with his hands in his pockets, regarding him with a carefully controlled expression. Arthur swallowed, not knowing what to say, until Coach spoke again. “How old did you say you were?”  
  
“Nineteen,” replied Arthur.  
  
“The perfect age. Ah, I remember being nineteen with a bonny new wife on my arm. Back then, you married young. Not like today.”  
  
“So you’re married, then?” Arthur asked. Coach K rarely spoke of personal things.  
  
“Was. Sixty years it would have been next month.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be with someone so long—couldn’t imagine that kind of loss, either.  
  
“My Peggy is up in heaven, I’m sure.” The old man’s expression became wistful as he gazed at the sky, but when he turned back to Arthur, it was business again. “Mackearnan giving you any trouble?”  
  
“No,” Arthur lied. He reached down and pulled back on his toes to stretch his calf. The truth was Arthur had never really been harassed before this, and sometimes Mackearnan’s taunts struck a sore spot, directed as they were against his masculinity. He’d decided not to let it bother him. Playing was too important.  
  
“Och, he’s jealous of your youth, your ability. Don’t let him get you down when he bumps his gums. Mark my words: you’re destined for great things.”  
  
Arthur shot the old man a doubtful look, which earned him a frown.  
  
“So young to be so cynical. A boy like you should be full to the brim with confidence. When you’re on the pitch, you are. Anyone can see that.”  
  
“I feel . . . different out there,” Arthur said, not knowing how else to describe it. Since moving to Edinburgh eight months before, he’d had a lot of time to sort out things in his head.  
  
It hadn’t been an easy time. His father had been furious when Arthur had announced his plans to move, demanding explanations that Arthur wasn’t able to give, until, at last, Viv had intervened. Whatever she’d said had placated his father, though Arthur resented being treated like a child at eighteen. He could leave if he wanted, Uther Pendragon be damned. The morning he’d packed his bags, his father had watched him go in stony silence. Since then, their few conversations had been stilted at best.  
  
The first couple of months in Scotland, he’d been depressed, moping around Viv’s flat and wondering what he should do next. He missed Merlin, but the memory of him and Gwaine kissing was enough to stop him from picking up the phone. Viv had been supportive, but there had come a day when she’d come into his room, yanked the curtains back, and told him she had a job lined up for him. That had been the wakeup call he needed; he was embarrassed for feeling so sorry for himself and frankly tired of the inaction. Working at the pub was just what he needed to feel useful again.  
  
Yet the real change had come when he’d decided to get back on the pitch. Now that he was fully healed, his confidence was gradually returning, and he spent his days practicing drills and training. Still, he hadn’t dared to hope for anything beyond these Saturday games.  
  
Coach K cleared his throat, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “So what’s holding you back?”  
  
“Dunno.” He no longer had the excuse of his knee. As soon as the thought formed in his mind, Arthur startled, looking off into the distance. The pitch was green with new spring grass, silent except for a few twittering birds in the trees that lined it. Was that what his injury had provided then, an excuse? A way out of playing, avoiding the failure he feared was inevitable? If so, the only thing holding him back was . . . him.  
  
“Well, figure it out, laddie. Much as I like having you around, I ken you don’t belong here with us.”  
  
Arthur grinned up at him, then stood and gathered his bag filled with all his gear, slinging it over his shoulder. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll try.”

 

********

  
Later that day, Arthur arrived at his Saturday evening shift a few minutes late.  
  
“There you are,” said a now-familiar voice as he entered the pub. “I missed you, darling.” Arthur nodded at Mordred, still feeling a twinge of embarrassment from what had happened between them the week before. He took off his hat and stowed it, tensing as the other man sidled up behind him. Mordred put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and smiled his cat-like grin.  
  
“Somehow I don’t think you’ve been too hard up,” Arthur said lightly, shaking him off. His co-worker only tended bar on Saturdays, and he wasn’t exactly known for his chastity; since Arthur’d started working, there was almost always a different bloke picking Mordred up at the end of the night. But Arthur’s brush off did nothing to erase Mordred’s smile.  
  
“Oh, you wound me,” he said, pressing a long-fingered hand against his chest and sighing. “I thought what we had was special.”  
  
Arthur snorted and started wiping down the counter, trying to ignore the way Mordred draped himself over the bar to collect discarded pints.  
  
The thing with Mordred had been a mistake, but Arthur had been lonely, and Mordred had been trying to pull him since his first week on the job. What had started as the two of them sharing a few pints after closing had turned into Mordred on his knees in front of Arthur, sucking his cock while he wanked to completion on the beer-soaked floor behind the bar.  
  
As soon as it was over, Arthur had regretted it. It wasn’t that Mordred wasn’t attractive; he was apparently just Arthur’s type, slim and tall with dark hair and wide blue eyes. But they weren’t the eyes Arthur wanted to see staring up at him. He’d broken up with Merlin nine months ago, and since then he’d had several opportunities, yet Mordred was the only one who’d seemed even remotely appealing. He hated to admit it was because, at least physically, Mordred reminded him of someone else. He’d gone home that night feeling empty, missing Merlin more fiercely than he had in months.  
  
Mordred could be catty when he didn’t get what he wanted, and Arthur couldn’t afford to lose his job at The Rising Sun, even though Viv insisted it wasn’t necessary he pay rent. As much as he loved his aunt, he wanted to get a place of his own soon, be able to come and go without attracting her attention. Be able to date, if he wanted.  
  
So despite the awkwardness of the previous weekend, Arthur knew he had to maintain a good working relationship with Mordred; that might be difficult, especially if the other man wanted another go. From the way he was making eyes at Arthur and waggling his arse, it seemed likely.  
  
Another presence interrupted Arthur’s thoughts; it was Ravi, the Sun’s publican and a good friend of Viv’s. A short, vibrant man, Ravi was a second-generation immigrant who took pride in serving the best curry and chips this side of the Royal Mile.  
  
“Expect a busy night, lads,” he told them, eyes flicking around to assess the state of things. The pub was small compared to the other, more touristy places nearby, and had a loyal crowd of student regulars who loved the cheap food and reasonably priced beer.  
  
“What’s tonight?” Mordred asked.  
  
“First weekend of spring hols,” Ravi replied. “So the students will be extra rowdy tonight, those staying on.”  
  
Spring holiday. Merlin would probably be going back to York for a couple of weeks to visit his mum. The thought occurred to him absently as he set about wiping down the pub tables, doing his best to avoid Mordred’s not-so-casual touches.  
  
He often wondered what Merlin was doing, if he’d made many friends at university, whether he was seeing anyone. Arthur had found himself on the verge of ringing Merlin many times, but something would stop him before he pressed send. Merlin had said he needed time, so that left the first move up to him. And it was possible that he and Gwaine were . . . no, he couldn’t let his mind wander there again.  
  
As the evening wore on, the pub filled up, mostly with students and tourists, and Arthur didn’t have time to think about much else than pouring pint after pint and making small talk with a few of the regulars. Ravi had been right; it was busier than usual, even for a Saturday, but Arthur didn’t mind.  
  
“What are you doing later? I’d love to have another go,” Mordred whispered in his ear at around half nine. Arthur gawped after him as Mordred flitted away, feeling a stirring in his pants in spite of himself. There was no way it was happening again.  
  
But part of him, the part that thought with his dick, figured maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It wasn’t like Mordred was after a relationship, and they got on well enough. Why shouldn’t he give in?  
  
The following weekend was much of the same. The Knights won against a more challenging team than their previous opponents had been, and Arthur arrived at the Rising Sun at five. All week he’d been considering Mordred’s offer, and his resistance was slowly crumbling, especially since the prospect of getting off with someone was so much better than his hand.  
  
Business was rather slow. Arthur and Mordred spent most of the night eating crisps, watching football, and accepting halves from a couple of the older patrons.  
  
“So last week you ran out of here in a hurry,” Mordred said, keeping his voice casual. He leaned against the bar on one elbow, the other hand tracing lazily along the wood. “I’ll stop pestering you now, but my arse is yours if you say the word.”  
  
Before Arthur could respond, Mordred gave him a wink and went to pull a pint for a woman who’d just approached the bar. Arthur turned his gaze back to the Aberdeen-Inverness game. He needed something to distract him from dwelling on Mordred’s proposition, but both teams were playing like utter crap. Sighing, he reached for another crisp as a group of loud boys came in, laughing and jostling each other. One of them came up to the bar to get drinks and Arthur left off watching the game to serve.  
  
“What’ll it be, mate?” he asked. The kid rattled off his simple, four-lager order, and Arthur nodded, grabbing a glass and turning towards the tap.  
  
“Fucking hell. Arthur?”  
  
He froze, hand paused mid-air, then turned back sharply.  
  
Merlin was standing not three feet away, and he was staring at Arthur with his mouth open.  
  
He looked good. Amazing, actually. His hair had grown out, falling over his ears a bit, and he seemed broader about the shoulders. Or maybe it was just an illusion created by the tight blue T-shirt he was wearing. Had Merlin been working out? Arthur’s eyes trailed over his chest and then back up to his face, blushing when he realised he hadn’t answered.  
  
“Yeah. It’s me,” he said, internally kicking himself for the lame response. “What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, but his brain was having a hard time catching up with his eyes.  
  
“Having a pint with the lads. What are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“I work here.”  
  
Merlin’s mouth turned up in a soft smile, and he gestured toward Arthur’s uniform tee. “I figured that. I meant here in Edinburgh!”  
  
“Wait,” said the other lad, clapping his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The gesture immediately drew Arthur’s attention. It was friendly, he concluded, rather than affectionate. Still, Arthur didn’t like the way the tosser’s hand lingered on Merlin’s arm a beat too long. “You know this bloke?”  
  
“He’s a . . . good friend,” Merlin said, still not taking his eyes off Arthur. The words made Arthur’s chest ache; he would give anything to be Merlin’s friend again, he realised. Anything.  
  
Fighting down the emotion, he mustered a smile. “We go way back.”  
  
“Right, old friends and all,” said the other lad. Standing about a half-head shorter than Merlin, he had sandy hair and skin that looked like it’d seen its share of acne. Still, he wasn’t unattractive. “I’m Will,” he said, offering his hand, “Merlin’s flatmate.”  
  
“Arthur.” Arthur shook Will’s hand, looking from him to Merlin. He’d almost forgotten he’d been in the middle of pouring them drinks, so he reached again for the tap as Will chatted on to Merlin about something to do with uni, obviously continuing a conversation they’d begun outside.  
  
When Arthur had first taken this job, he’d come into work each evening in a state of nervous expectation, hoping and fearing Merlin would walk in the door at any moment. It had never happened, and now that Merlin was here, he didn’t know what to say.  
  
After he’d poured the last pint, he set it down in front of Merlin, who’d drawn out his wallet to pay. “Nah,” Arthur said, gesturing his dismissal. “It’s on the house.”  
  
“Thanks, Arth.” It was brilliant, the sound of his name on Merlin’s lips.  
  
“Right, I’ll just take these over to the lads,” Will said, somehow managing to gather three pints into a triangle that he braced against his chest.  
  
Arthur couldn’t get rid of the stupid grin on his face. It was so fucking good to see Merlin, strange how he looked older though it hadn’t even been a year.  
  
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, mate,” Arthur said before he could stop himself. “How’ve you been?”  
  
“Well. I mean, I was home for a week visiting Mum and I just got back this afternoon. She asked about you, you know. And . . . it was . . . it’s been a bit odd, what with the anniversary and all. We went to visit my dad’s grave and . . . well, I just kinda wanted to come back after that. How’ve you been?”  
  
“Shit,” Arthur said. He’d entirely forgotten that it had been a year since Balinor’s death. Wanting to offer words of comfort, but not knowing how or what would be welcome, he could only say, “I’m sorry, Merls,” falling into the affectionate nickname with ease.  
  
Merlin nodded. For a moment, neither said anything; fuck, Arthur’d been a crap friend, hadn’t he? He should have done things differently. Maybe he should have walked right up to Merlin and Gwaine at that club. Maybe . . .  
  
“It’s okay,” Merlin said, “I’ve . . . I’ve been meaning to call you.” The words were uttered hesitantly.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“It’s just—fuck, I didn’t know how.”  
  
“Yeah. Me neither,” Arthur admitted.  
  
“Gwen told me you were at the Gallery that night.” Merlin ran a hand through his shaggy hair and picked up his pint, studying it to avoid Arthur’s eyes.  
  
“Merlin, don’t—”  
  
“I never meant to kiss him. It just sort of happened.”  
  
“Kiss whoooo? I love a nice sordid tale!” Somehow during their exchange, Mordred had appeared and was now happily eavesdropping. Arthur glared at him, the universal indication to get the fuck out, but of course Mordred didn’t observe normal social cues. Instead, he threw his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and leaned his head in conspiratorially. “I promise I won’t tell. I’m the soul of discretion, aren’t I, Arthur?” He gave Arthur’s arm a squeeze.  
  
Merlin’s face had grown a little pale, whether from the scene with Mordred or from the topic of conversation, Arthur didn’t know. He shrugged away from Mordred and beckoned Merlin to follow him to the other side of the bar.  
  
“It probably isn’t the best time to talk about this,” Merlin said, some colour returning to his cheeks.  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes. It was so like Merlin to want to clear the air in public, and at his job, no less. “Not the best. And anyway, it’s none of my business. We’d broken up, and whatever you do . . . with who . . . is up to you. You don’t owe me any explanation.”  
  
“I do. Or at least, I want to explain. Nothing else happened with me and Gwaine. More than a kiss, that is.” His blush deepened.  
  
“Okay.” Arthur wasn’t sure how else to respond. To admit it had hurt him would leave him vulnerable, but dismissing it would make Merlin think he didn’t care. Then again, it wasn’t like had much to lose.  
  
“It was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry . . . I hope you didn't think I did it on purpose.”  
  
Arthur bit his lip. Gwen had assured him afterwards that Merlin didn't know she'd invited Arthur along, but it hadn't done much to make him feel better. "I was pissed off, a bit. Yeah,” he admitted.  
  
“I came by your house the next day,” Merlin said. “Didn’t your father tell you? He said you'd gone out.”  
  
“No.” By then Arthur’d already been on his way to Edinburgh. No wonder he’d never heard about Merlin’s visit.  
  
“Ahh.” Merlin let out a knowing sigh. “Well, that’s bollocks.”  
  
“My father’s an arse,” Arthur said. “But then again, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I guess I can’t blame you."  
  
"Maybe we can agree we were both idiots," Arthur offered. He was too happy to see Merlin to dredge up bad feelings, especially if Merlin meant what he said.  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Merlin agreed. "But Gwen said . . ." Merlin trailed off and took a sip of his pint. It left a little moustache on his upper lip that he licked away. "Nevermind."   
  
Arthur wanted to ask him what she'd said—probably something embarrassing but true—when the boys Merlin had come with started calling his name, asking him to come settle something between them. Arthur got a good look at them for the first time. Aside from Will, there was a cute dark-skinned boy and a taller, pale lad with nearly black hair. Those two had to be an item, close as they were sitting together.  
  
“Be there in a second!” Merlin yelled before turning back to Arthur. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “They’ve had a skinful. But they’re good mates.”  
  
“Are they in your programme?”  
  
“Max is,” said Merlin, gesturing. “He’s the short one. But Anton studies English and Will, well, you met Will.”  
  
“You like it then, uni? Having fun?”  
  
“It’s a ton of work, but yeah,” Merlin’s eyes lit up, and Arthur could tell there were probably a lot of stories behind the expression. “But I don’t want to talk about that. What about you? How long have you been in Edinburgh?”  
  
“Um. I came about eight months ago. Living with Viv, working here,” Arthur gestured helplessly. His life probably seemed boring to Merlin. “I’m playing on a team. Just a local one,” he added.  
  
“Really?” Merlin exclaimed. “That’s brill!”  
  
Arthur’s face heated. “It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“Fuck it isn’t! What team is it? Where do you play? Oh, I’m totally coming to a game.”  
  
Merlin insisted on writing the address and time on the back of a bar mat, which he pocketed.  
  
“Hey. That’s stealing,” Arthur teased.  
  
“Sure, but I know the bar man here, so I don’t think I’ll get in too much trouble.” Merlin offered Arthur a different kind of smile, one that made his insides flutter madly. He gripped the counter with both hands to stop from launching himself over the bar. All he wanted was to sink his fingers into Merlin’s soft hair and kiss the smile off his lips. The friends called out again, and Merlin waved them off, letting out an irritated sigh. “Impatient lot, that.”  
  
“Well, you better go join them.” Even as he said the words, Arthur regretted them.  
  
“Yeah. I guess so.” Merlin’s voice was satisfyingly reluctant.  
  
“Is it all right if I call you?” Arthur asked before Merlin could turn away. He waited a beat while Merlin’s eyes widened.  
  
“Of course. Do you even have to ask?”  
  
It occurred to him, painfully, that yes, he did. He nodded, and Merlin seemed like he might say something else, but then his mates were rising from the table and dragging him away, wanting to move on to another, livelier pub. Merlin abandoned his half-drunk beer on the bar and let himself be manhandled out the door. Arthur started to panic internally—when would he see Merlin again? What if he didn’t come to the game?  
  
Arthur made a ridiculous silent bargain with himself or God or whatever was out there: if Merlin didn’t look back before he left, it meant they would never again be more than friends, but if he did . . . _look back, look back, look back_ . . .  
  
Merlin did one better. He broke free of his friends and jogged over to the bar, his face flushing pink. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad . . .I’m glad you moved away. That you’re here.”  
  
“Me too. And you. It’s good to see you. Too.” He stumbled over the words, unsure.  
  
In the doorway, Merlin’s friends were staring at them.  
  
“I’ve really gotta go.”  
  
“Yeah. Okay.” Arthur grinned so widely he felt his face might crack. “See you later.”  
  
“Later,” Merlin said, finally disappearing into the night.  
  
“Ah-ha, so _that_ is the reason,” Mordred startled him away from his focus on the door.  
  
“What?” Arthur was equally confused by Mordred’s sudden appearance and his seriousness.  
  
“He’s a cutie,” Mordred said. “I’d probably choose him over me, too.”  
  
“It’s not a choice.”  
  
“Yeah. I know.”  
  
********

  
“What are you so pleased about?” Viv asked, smiling up at him when he finally got home. It was late, and he was surprised to see her still awake and reading on the couch.  
  
“What makes you think I'm pleased?”  
  
“Oh, you know, you’re grinning. A good night at the Sun? Was Mordred working?”  
  
Arthur answered with a shrug of his shoulders. His aunt had met Mordred several times and had been charmed by him, and he suspected she thought they’d make a nice couple. Of course that wasn’t why he was smiling, but it was better to keep things to himself for now or she’d worry. He bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and just as he was about to turn, she grabbed his wrist.  
  
“Your father rang tonight.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Despite his casual words, the news erased his buoyant mood. While it had been surprisingly freeing to tell his aunt about Merlin, he’d been dreading the inevitable confrontation with his father. He was already such a disappointment not going to uni, he could only imagine what Uther would say when he found out Arthur preferred men.  
  
“He’s asked me what’s going on with you. I know it’s not my place to tell him, but I think you should. Speak with him. He’s your father and he’ll love you no matter what.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”  
  
She sighed and gave him a tight smile. “I talked to your sister, too. She’ll be coming up soon.”  
  
Arthur nodded. He hadn’t seen Morgana in a couple of months, and he missed her. After her last visit (during which he’d planned, and failed, to tell her the truth of why he’d left), he’d decided the next time she visited, he wouldn’t bottle out.  
  
“Yeah. It’ll be good to see her.”  
  
Viv gave him a wide smile. “All right, lad. Go get some rest. But think about talking to your father. He may surprise you.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said, though he doubted it very much.  
  
********

  
Arthur was sweating bullets, pacing around the room with his phone in his hand. He knew he was being ridiculous.  
  
It was three days since he’d seen Merlin at the Sun, and he’d wondered how long he had to wait, whether it was too soon. Finally he decided he was being a git and if Merlin didn’t want to speak with him, he wouldn’t have told him to call. Taking a deep breath, he found Merlin in his contacts and pressed send.  
  
“Yeah? Arth?” Merlin answered on the fourth ring. Arthur could hear loud club music and Merlin’s cursing like he’d tripped over something.  
  
The music stopped. “Heya.”  
  
“Sorry about that. I was just doing this yoga thing.”  
  
“Yoga?” Arthur snorted. Aunt Viv went to a class once a week and had tried to get him to go on more than one occasion, but as far as Arthur was concerned, that bollocks was for birds. He’d done some back in physio and always felt like a twat.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not just for girls,” Merlin said. “It’s actually very challenging.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it, mate.”  
  
Merlin grumbled something at him that he couldn’t quite decipher, and Arthur felt his anxiety sluice away.  
  
“Sorry, yeah. I mean, it’s . . . good. You look good. Fit.”  
  
“Oh shut up,” Merlin said, a smile in his voice.  
  
“So I was wondering,” Arthur said, his heart beating faster, “maybe if you wanted to get coffee or something. Catch up.” He bit his lip, wincing as he waited for the answer.  
  
“When?”  
  
“What are you doing now?”  
  
The coffee shop Merlin chose was about a mile from Viv’s, and Arthur walked the distance, leaving the house early to ensure he’d get there on time. Of course he arrived late thanks to Merlin’s terrible directions.  
  
He saw Merlin from the street sitting in an overstuffed armchair near the window, sipping a cup of something and reading. For a moment, he let himself indulge in the pleasure of watching as Merlin set his drink down and tapped his pen against his lip thoughtfully. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, then smiled to himself. Arthur’s heart swelled.  
  
Inside, the place smelled of coffee beans and burnt toast, filled to capacity with students listening to their iPods and procrastinating on Facebook and Tumblr. Arthur edged his way around two girls who were nearly sitting in each other’s laps and flopped into the chair opposite Merlin.  
  
Merlin looked up. “Hey,” he said with a hesitant smile. “I’ve been fighting people off of that chair for twenty minutes.”  
  
“Yeah, well _someone_ told me to turn left at the end of Lancaster Street.”  
  
“Oh shit, I meant right.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s okay. I figured it out on my mobile.”  
  
“Thank God for technology. Hey, you want a coffee?”  
  
Arthur nodded, but before he could get up to go to the counter, Merlin was already up and halfway across the room, nodding and smiling at people he knew as he passed. The barista, a short girl with a pixie cut, perked up when he approached, her smiles and blush betraying her interest. Merlin surprised Arthur by flirting right back, giving her a wink as he picked up the freshly poured coffee.  
  
“Here you go,” Merlin said, sliding the mug across the table between them when he returned. “Black, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.” Arthur watched Merlin curiously as he stowed the book he’d been reading in his bag, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“So.”  
  
“So.”  
  
“What have you—”  
  
“Is this your—”  
  
They spoke at the same time, laughing as they cut each other off. Merlin cocked his head. “You first.”  
  
“So is this your cool student hangout?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I don’t do much work here, though. Hard to concentrate.”  
  
Arthur glanced around. “Seems that way.” He cracked his knuckles and sighed, wondering why this seemed so hard. “What were you reading when I came in?”  
  
“Oh, a programming text on this new code I have to learn. It’s pretty fucking boring. I wasn’t even really reading it.”  
  
Remembering the smile he’d seen from the street, Arthur wondered what—or who— Merlin had been thinking of. He could only hope it was in anticipation of their meeting.  
  
“But you like it?”  
  
“I do,” Merlin said with a nod. “My lecturers are great, and I’ve met some really fun people.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Arthur said, heart lurching a bit. He cleared his throat. “Your friends seemed nice.”  
  
“They are. Will is from Bristol, and he and I get on the best, I’d say. Max and Anton are a bit much sometimes. So in loooove.” Merlin wrinkled his nose. “What about you, any mates from your team?”  
  
“A couple, yeah.” Arthur’d gone on the lash with his team a few times. Aside from Mackearnan, they were generally friendly, but he’d yet to make any real mates. Mordred was the closest thing to a friend he had in Edinburgh so far. Still, hearing that Merlin and Will got on well didn’t exactly put his mind at ease.  
  
“Who was that guy at the bar?” Merlin asked as if reading his mind. “He a friend of yours?”  
  
“Um, Mordred’s a mate, yeah.” He felt his face heat.  
  
“Oh,” Merlin said. “More than that.”  
  
“Just once,” Arthur admitted, staring at his hands. “It wasn’t anything serious.” When Merlin didn’t reply, Arthur looked up. Merlin seemed to be contemplating something.  
  
“Wow. Good for you.”  
  
Arthur didn’t exactly know how to take that. He frowned. “I guess.”  
  
“I’m just saying, he’s fit.”  
  
“You think so?” They’d reached dangerous ground. Arthur suddenly regretted bringing it up at all, if this was going to be Merlin’s reaction. He didn’t know what he’d expected, jealousy? For Merlin to insist it never happen again?  
  
“Don’t take it the wrong way. I just mean, objectively speaking,” Merlin muttered. He didn’t say anything for a while, but he had a familiar look on his face and he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. There was obviously something else on his mind.  
  
“If you have something to say,” Arthur said, “say it.”  
  
“I was just surprised. I thought you’d maybe go back to girls.”  
  
Arthur took a deep breath and gave Merlin a steady look. Since they’d first kissed, it had really only been Merlin that Arthur wanted, but when he wanked, his fantasies were of men, of hard cocks and sweaty skin. The realisation hadn’t been easy or entirely welcome, but what he’d had with Merlin was far more satisfying than anything he’d ever had with a girl. Though he still sometimes found women attractive, he no longer doubted his preference. “No. I thought about it, but the truth is I’m more into guys.” Merlin swallowed visibly, and Arthur continued, “I came out to my aunt.”  
  
“You’re having me on, really?” The surprise on Merlin’s face made Arthur a bit uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Wow. Good for you." Merlin paused as if considering his words, then said softly, "I'm proud of you."  
  
Arthur studied his cup, embarrassed. He felt proud of himself, too, and not because he'd told Viv. He felt proud because he'd stopped lying to himself.  
  
When he looked back, he was surprised that Merlin’s expression was one of concern. “I’m sorry, Arth. I know it’s hard. If you ever want to talk to anyone . . .”  
  
“Thanks.” Their eyes met long enough for Arthur’s heart to start pounding. He had to look away, the question he’d been dying to ask on the tip of his tongue. “So what about you? Seeing anyone?”  
  
“I met a bloke during freshers week,” Merlin said. “But I wasn’t ready for anything. I’ve been trying to focus on studies.”  
  
Arthur’s mind rioted with jealousy and relief. He plastered a smile on his face, hoping to disguise his emotions. Half of him wanted to confess what he wanted, but the other half was still worried, unsure. If Merlin rejected him . . .  
  
It was too soon.  
  
“I’m sure you’re getting great marks, yeah?”  
  
Merlin flushed and murmured, “Yeah.”  
  
“Tell me more about what’s going on with you.”  
  
As the afternoon drew on, they talked about uni and football and Scotland. Arthur found his jealousy of Will slowly give way as it became clear Merlin only thought of him as a mate. He told Arthur about being out, going to gay bars, and even suggested Arthur come along with them some night.  
  
“There’s a place we go down on Rose,” Merlin said. “It’s a bit grotty, but the drinks are cheap. Some really fit lads.”  
  
Merlin grinned, and Arthur wasn’t sure whether he was being baited or not. He nodded noncommittally, unsure if going out on the pull with Merlin and his mates was a good idea. “You saying you want to be my gay mentor?” he joked to hide the tension.  
  
“I’m hardly the mentoring type. Compared to some of the guys I know, I’m barely a card-carrying team member.” Merlin laughed, stretching his legs out. God, his jeans were tight. “But I muddle through somehow.”  
  
“You seem to be doing better than that.”  
  
It was the understatement of the century. Merlin had obviously flourished in the time they’d been apart. His eyes were brighter, the pain of mourning faded. He seemed more confident than he’d been at Ealdor, pausing in his conversation with Arthur to say hi to friends. This was his turf, and Arthur wondered if that was one of the reasons Merlin had proposed it, so that Arthur could see those changes. It made Arthur glad—and proud—but melancholy all the same. Merlin didn’t need him anymore. Perhaps Arthur had been the one holding him back in the first place.  
  
“I want to come to your game on Saturday,” Merlin said as they walked out into the cool spring evening. “If that’s okay.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like that, but don’t feel obligated. I know footie isn’t exactly your thing.”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Merlin offered a smile. “I’m glad you’re playing again. Can I ask why? I mean, what changed your mind? The last time we talked about it, you were sure you’d never join another club.”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “Lots of things have changed, I guess.”  
  
But some had stayed the same.  
  
********

  
At the sound of his name, Arthur whirled around from where he was doing drills on the side of the pitch; he’d been much more diligent about warm-ups since he’d joined the Knights.  
  
Merlin stood among the small crowd of spectators—mostly girlfriends, parents, and friends—one hand raised, blocking the sun from his eyes with the other. Arthur waved and grinned, jogging over to say hello.  
  
“Heya, mate,” he said, realizing he was probably smiling like an idiot. He’d hoped Merlin would come, but hadn’t counted on it, not wanting to be disappointed if he didn’t show.  
  
“Hey,” Merlin said, grinning back. “Here I am.”  
  
“Here you are.”  
  
“Nice kit,” he said, looking Arthur up and down. The faint blush on his cheeks told Arthur he approved of the Knights’ red and gold.  
  
Impulsively, Arthur leaned forward and threw an arm around Merlin, dragging him in for a quick hug that lasted longer than he’d intended. Fresh from the shower with still-damp hair, Merlin was warm and _there_ and impossible to let go.  
  
“Stick around after the match, okay?” Arthur asked as he finally pulled back.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Merlin nodded, his smile growing wider, and Arthur returned to drills with a pleasant feeling curling through his chest.  
  
“Oi, Princess,” a booming voice came from behind. “That your girlfriend?” Arthur rolled his eyes and didn’t respond, but at six foot three and at least sixteen stone, Cenred Mackearnan was a hard man to ignore.  
  
“Shut up, Mac,” another teammate said. “Don’t be a tosser.”  
  
“What?” Mackearnan asked as though wounded, “I’m just so happy that our little Princess here finally brought along his bird. It’s so sweet.”  
  
Someone else chuckled, and Arthur felt the beginnings of real anger.  
  
“Cat got your tongue, eh, Princess? Och, I always knew you were a bloody poof.”  
  
Realizing he wasn’t going to back down, Arthur left off stretching and rose to his full height. Mackearnan had a few inches on him, but Arthur wasn’t afraid. He’d be damned if some Scottish wanker was going to insult him in front of Merlin and the rest of his team.  
  
“Rather a poof than a bigoted arsehole,” Arthur said, injecting menace into his tone. If it came down to a fight, he’d certainly get his arse kicked, but he liked to think he could do some damage on the way down.  
  
“Why don’t you try coming over here and repeating that to my face?”  
  
“Sorry,” Arthur snapped, striding closer. “Didn’t realise you were an idiot as well.”  
  
“You’re gonna wish you didn’t say that, you queer.”  
  
“Lads, lads,” Gilli Spires, the striker, stepped up and put himself between them, pressing back on Arthur’s chest. Arthur nearly hit his hand away; he was that pissed off. Mackearnan looked ready to shoot back another insult, but then Coach materialized out of nowhere.  
  
“That’s enough, from both of you.” His blue eyes were fierce. “Mac, get out of here and cool down. Pendragon, I’d like to speak with you.”  
  
Still seething, Arthur fought the urge to get one good punch in and followed Coach a few paces away. “Yeah?”  
  
“Listen to me. There’s a scout here today from Hearts, a good friend of mine. I’ve asked him to come to see _you._ You understand?”  
  
All of the anger drained from Arthur’s body, replaced immediately with nerves and a healthy dose of fear. He looked over his shoulder at the spectators, wondering which one of them was the scout, and caught Merlin’s gaze. His friend looked worried; obviously he’d seen the entire exchange with Mackearnan, but Arthur hoped he’d been out of earshot.  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“You go on that pitch and show him what you’ve got. Don’t make me look like an eejit, and for God’s sake, laddie, don’t get in a rammy with Mac out there. It doesn’t matter how good a player you are if you can’t get along with your team. No one will want you, and I don’t care who started it.”  
  
“Got it, Coach. I’m . . . I’m sorry. It’s just that he . . .”  
  
“I heard what he said. Is it true?” Coach’s face was impassive.  
  
“Yeah, it actually is.” He gusted out a breath, surprised at how easy the truth came out.  
  
The old man sighed. “It won’t be easy. But not impossible. Things are changing in the game, slowly but surely.”  
  
Arthur nodded, swallowing back emotion. “Thank you so much. For everything.”  
  
The old man waved away the sentiment behind the words. “You go out there and show them how you can play, and nothing else will matter. To most people.” He cast a grim look at Mackearnan over his shoulder. “Knew his da,” Coach said, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t be proud of his son today.”  
  
His conversation with Coach K at the front of his mind, Arthur took his place on the pitch, ignoring the menacing glances cast his way by Mackearnan. It had finally sunk in that this game could make all the difference, and that he _wanted_ it to.  
  
He was a blur, covering defence as well as sprinting up the pitch to make assists and show he could be a team player. In the first half he lost possession once, but refused to let it spoil the rest of his game. He came back stronger in the second, making a few prime tackles and assisting two goals. The Knights blew their competition away, with a final score of 4-1 at full time. It wasn’t Arthur’s best performance, but he felt confident he’d shown what he could do. Now he could only hope it was good enough to have captured the notice of the scout.  
  
Merlin was waiting for him as promised, standing with his hands thrust into his pockets. He smiled as Arthur, sweaty and euphoric, joined him. He had willed himself to ignore Mac’s glaring looks during the game and he’d played well. Best of all, Merlin was here.  
  
“Great game,” Merlin said as he approached.  
  
“Thanks.” Arthur wiped his brow with his towel, still sweating from exertion despite the chilly morning. “I’m really fucking nervous, though.”  
  
“Why?” Merlin looked puzzled.  
  
“See that bloke over there?” Arthur gestured across the pitch to where Coach was speaking to a fit, middle-aged man, undoubtedly the scout. The two men looked over just as Merlin followed his gaze. Coach K waved.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“The taller one’s a scout from Hearts come to see me play.” Arthur plastered a smile on his face and waved back, and the two men returned to talking.  
  
“Bugger me! Really?”  
  
“Yeah. So anyway, I hope I didn’t muck things up with that arsehole before the game.”  
  
“Jesus, I thought you were about to get in a fight. What was he on about, anyway? That guy is huge.”  
  
Arthur gave Merlin a rueful smile. By now, most of the rest of the team had already gone; thankfully Mackearnan was nowhere in sight. “He’s a real wanker, too. Honestly, you’re better off not knowing.” He glanced back at coach and the scout, and noticed with disappointment the taller man was walking away. He hadn’t even wanted to be introduced to Arthur; that couldn’t be a good sign. But Coach K had a pleased look on his face as he approached them.  
  
“Did well out there today, laddie,” he said. Then, noticing the worried look on Arthur’s face, patted his arm. “Patrick was in a hurry; he had to go see about another player. He was quite impressed by you, though. I’ve a good feeling about it.”  
  
That did a little to lift Arthur’s spirits, as Coach wasn’t one to offer false hope. He nodded.  
  
“And who’s this wee rickle a’bones?” Coach continued, indicating Merlin. Arthur snorted at the description. If Coach thought Merlin was skinny now, he should have seen him when he was ten.  
  
“This is my best mate from England,” Arthur explained. “Merlin.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Arthur stood by the door he’d been directed to by a student and waited for the members of the Edinburgh University Brass Ensemble to emerge. The week before, Merlin had mentioned the concert in passing, but Arthur had been scheduled to work at the pub. Afterwards, though, he’d spoken to Ravi and had gotten someone else to cover his shift. It was the day before Merlin’s birthday.  
  
He shifted on his feet as the first few band members started filtering out, carrying large black cases full of shiny instruments, laughing and talking, some of them giving Arthur passing glances. Merlin didn’t know he was here, and suddenly Arthur wondered if he should’ve rung first. It was likely he had plans, after all, it being a Friday. He fingered the small box in his pocket.  
  
Another swarm of students emerged, Merlin among them. He looked up, surprised when their eyes met, and Arthur gave a tentative wave. In the weeks since they’d gotten back in touch, things felt different; once he wouldn’t have given a second thought to dropping by and saying _hey_ after a show, but now . . . now his heart beat faster as Merlin broke away from his friends.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked with a smile, seemingly glad to see him.  
  
“Thought I’d come round to see if you still played like crap.”  
  
“Har har,” Merlin said, shoving his arm. “You’re bloody hilarious. So, what’d you think?”  
  
“Still crap, just as I suspected.”  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes, about to retort something when another boy hit him on the shoulder. “Yours in a few, right, Merlin?”  
  
“Yep. See you there, mate.”  
  
The kid, a freckly blond about Arthur’s height, nodded and continued on his way, leaving them alone again. So Merlin did have plans tonight.  
  
“Yeah, I just wanted to drop by.” Arthur flushed, clutching the present in his pocket. “But you’re busy, so I won’t hold you up.”  
  
Merlin frowned and shook his head. “It’s just a little party for my birthday. Why don’t you come?”  
  
Arthur had yet to visit Merlin’s campus flat, though he’d often been curious. No way would he pass up the opportunity to see the place where they could’ve been living together.  
  
“Sure. I’d like that.”  
  
Arthur followed Merlin’s lead as they wove their way through campus. Students milled about George Square, some of them sitting in groups, a few kicking around a football in the fading light. They passed in front of the library, and for a moment Arthur imagined what it would be like if he was a student here. He couldn’t say that he envied them their workload, but the social benefits were tempting. He missed going to parties, hanging out with kids his own age.  
  
“What are you thinking about? You’re awfully quiet.”  
  
“Just about this,” Arthur said, gesturing. “Everyone having a laugh. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone to uni after all.”  
  
“You can still change you mind.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Merlin eyed him tentatively. “Have you heard from the scout?”  
  
“Nothing official, but I guess he’s going to come back for another look tomorrow.” It’d been almost three weeks without a word, and Arthur had started losing hope until Coach had phoned him to say that his friend was interested but wanted to see a second game. “So I can’t stay late; we’re playing early in the morning. I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, don’t be. I have a good feeling about this.”  
  
“You and Morgana both.”  
  
“Oh really? How is she, anyway?”  
  
“Doing well,” Arthur said as they reached Merlin’s hall and he fished out his keycard to swipe. “She’s going to York next year. Oh, and I told her about . . . us. Well, me really, but she’d already guessed,” he added carefully, watching as Merlin fumbled with the door. During his sister’s visit, he’d finally just come out with it. She’d given him an unsurprised look and asked why it had taken him so long to tell her.  
  
“I guess it was pretty obvious. The amount of time we spent alone in your room and all.” Merlin’s voice was steady, neutral.  
  
“You’re not mad?”  
  
“Why would I be?”  
  
“I didn’t know if her knowing was okay with you. I mean, because we’re not . . . anymore.” Arthur ran his hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortable.  
  
“No. I mean, it’s fine. Yeah. I don’t mind.”  
  
Arthur couldn’t decipher the look on Merlin’s face as they continued walking. Doors that described their occupants with pictures and posters were open, music of various kinds and loudness clashing together in the corridor.  
  
“So, what did she say?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Not too much. She was cool with it, happy if I’m happy and all that.” Morgana had also asked him when he was going to propose to Merlin, because God they were so meant for each other and why was he being such a complete wanker, but he didn’t feel the need to divulge that bit of information.  
  
“Good. That’s really good.” They turned down another corridor, this one a bit quieter than the first. Arthur suddenly felt the urge to confess everything—he still wanted Merlin, they could be together now if Merlin wanted, when Merlin asked, “So have you talked to any of the others?”  
  
“Percy rang me. He’s dating some anorexic model or something. Gwen and Lance seem to be completely missing in action, but I got an email from her a few months ago. “You?”  
  
“I talked to Gwaine the other day,” Merlin said, and Arthur fought a wince that Merlin didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“He’s got a new girlfriend, Mithian something or other. Says we met her once. He seems to be doing well. I don’t think he’s going to stay at uni, though.”  
  
Merlin continued on a bit, but Arthur was only half-listening. The memory of Merlin and Gwaine kissing still left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
“He asked about you,” Merlin continued, casting a wary glance at Arthur. “It wasn’t Gwaine’s fault, you know. He’s just a horny bastard.”  
  
“You can say that again,” Arthur muttered, realising he was being ridiculous.  
  
“Arth, you don’t see me running down to your pub and telling your mate Mordred to get stuffed, do you?”  
  
At the mention of that name, Arthur blushed. “It was only a one off.”  
  
“What exactly happened during that one off? You shag him?” The question was asked casually, but Arthur thought—hoped—he detected jealousy under it all.  
  
“No. But we—”  
  
Merlin held his hand up and grimaced. “I don’t need to know the details!”  
  
“You asked, mate!” Arthur laughed, satisfied that Merlin was sufficiently alarmed. “Fine, fine,” he relented. “I’ll give Gwaine a ring.”  
  
“You should.”  
  
They’d finally arrived at Merlin’s room, a two-bedroom corner unit with a shared living room. The walls were decorated with posters that declared Merlin and Will’s contrasting musical and movie interests, and there was campus-issue furniture covered with discarded wrappers and the odd sock. A small TV stood in the corner, half hidden by piles of DVDs, some of which Arthur recognised as Merlin’s favourite films from home. He smiled when he glimpsed _Krull_ , the tension from the awkward conversation dissipating.  
  
“So this is it,” Merlin said, setting his trumpet case down in the corner. “And that’s my room over there.” Arthur couldn’t tell in the dim light, but Merlin seemed to be blushing. “That door leads to Will’s. He’s either out or in there wanking.”  
  
“Ha. Just remember to lock your door.” He levelled a look at Merlin, who responded with a nervous laugh.  
  
“Yeah, don’t worry about that. I learned my lesson.”  
  
They were alone for the first time in nearly a year, Arthur suddenly noticed, and Merlin was standing close enough to touch. Memories rushed back—kissing Merlin, the feel of his body. Things had been strictly friendly between them since they’d become mates again, but now the emotions he’d repressed threatened to boil over. He’d told Merlin about Morgana so he’d know Arthur was trying, but he wasn’t sure whether Merlin knew how he still felt, or even if Merlin was still interested in him that way. After all, Merlin was at uni now with a whole new pool of blokes to choose from; there was no guarantee he’d welcome Arthur’s feelings or return them. And there was also the possibility that if Arthur did confess he wanted more, their new, fragile friendship would be threatened, maybe even damaged beyond repair.  
  
He didn’t think he could live through that again.  
  
“Arthur?”  
  
Merlin’s voice shook him out of his troubling thoughts. He turned and smiled, the expression fading when he noticed Merlin looked wary.  
  
“What?”  
  
Merlin swallowed. “It’s . . . strange. Here with you. When we’d planned . . .”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They stood silently, neither of them willing to say more, and then Arthur remembered the gift in his pocket. It was just a silly thing he’d seen in a shop window, but he’d thought Merlin might like it. He pulled it out and extended his hand.  
  
“Happy Birthday, Merls.”  
  
Merlin took the little box, smiling again. He shook it.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just open it.”  
  
Merlin did, eyes widening as he lifted out the tiny gold dragon. It hadn’t been cheap, but somehow it had seemed perfect, even if it was a bit cheesy.  
  
“I know when we were kids you used to like them, so . . . yeah. I can take it back if it’s crap.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid. I love it,” Merlin said, staring at the figure in his palm. He poked at it, tracing the tiny scales with his finger. “It’s perfect.”  
  
Arthur studied the space between them, merely two feet, an easily bridgeable gap. He was about to say _fuck it_ and pull Merlin close when the door opened, letting in Will, Anton, and Max, and a hell of a lot of beer. “Hey,” Will said. “Oh, hello again, Arthur was it? What’re you lads up to?” The question was directed at Merlin.  
  
“Oh,” Merlin replied, quickly pocketing his gift, “just waiting for you lot.”  
  
“Well, we’re here now,” said Anton, popping open a can and handing it to Merlin. He had an open smile that Arthur immediately liked. “Let the party begin.”  
  
After a couple hours, Merlin was pissed. His mates were a lot of fun, Arthur had decided, and they were welcoming—even Will, who it turned out didn’t fancy Merlin after all since he was snogging some curly-haired girl in the corner.  
  
“What is this rubbish? We need some music we can dance to,” Merlin declared to the room just as Arthur was getting ready to leave. The match tomorrow was too important to bollocks up, no matter how much he wanted to stay. When Merlin stood unsteadily and retreated to his room muttering about Will’s crap eighties obsession, Arthur finished his drink before trailing after him. He had a feeling Merlin wasn’t going to be doing much of anything but passing out on his bed, and he wanted to say his goodbyes in private.  
  
Merlin was seated at his computer fiddling with an iTunes mix when Arthur came in, not bothering to knock since the door was open.  
  
“Hey, I’ve got to head out,” he said. Merlin looked up, his eyes heavy-lidded. His bed was unmade, and there were clothes littering the floor. It reminded Arthur so much of Merlin’s room at home that his heart ached.  
  
“No. You should stay.”  
  
Arthur bit his lip and took a step closer.  
  
“I’m sorry . . . I don’t want to go, but you know, big game.” He reached out and touched Merlin’s shoulder. “What are you doing tomorrow?”  
  
Merlin’s eyes closed, his head lolling to the side. The muscles were tense under Arthur’s hand, and he squeezed firmly to unknot them. Merlin let out a little sigh, his shoulders relaxing as Arthur massaged with both hands.  
  
“No plans,” Merlin mumbled, chin dropping to his chest as Arthur let his hands travel down Merlin’s back. His own body responded being so close, and when Merlin leaned back into his touch, Arthur couldn’t resist. He leaned down and kissed the top of Merlin’s head, inhaling his scent and letting his lips linger, wondering if Merlin would remember in the morning.  
  
“Arthur?” Merlin asked.  
  
“Yeah?” His own voice was embarrassingly hoarse.  
  
“Is the room spinning or is it just me?”  
  
“Oh, mate, I think it’s just you.”  
  
“Arthur? M’tired.”  
  
“Okay,” Arthur said, giving his shoulders a final squeeze. Merlin stood, swaying a bit on his feet, and Arthur steadied him, a gesture that morphed into a hug as Merlin leaned into him. Their bodies pressed close, and Arthur could smell the beer on Merlin’s breath, feel the heat of his skin though his T-shirt. There were so many things weighing on his mind, but the most important was that Merlin was everything Arthur had ever wanted, and he was worth the risk.  
  
“You’re strong,” Merlin whispered, breath puffing against Arthur’s skin. He leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Feels nice.”  
  
It did, much too nice for how drunk Merlin was. If they stayed like this much longer, Merlin would undoubtedly have hard evidence of that fact prodding into his thigh, and it certainly wasn’t the time or place. But Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to disentangle from Merlin’s arms.  
  
“Arth?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Do you like music from the eighties?”  
  
“Not really—aside from Bowie.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
Arthur chuckled. “I figured that given your diatribe against it.”  
  
“They had stupid hair.”  
  
“What does that have to do with the music?”  
  
Merlin let out an exasperated sigh, like Arthur was thick. “I wonder if the bad hair came first or the bad music.”  
  
“Chicken or the egg.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
It was quiet for a moment, then Merlin said, “You really shouldn’t go. You can stay here.” His lips moved against Arthur’s neck as he spoke, his body pressing closer so that Arthur could feel _all_ of him and God, how much self-control was a bloke supposed to have?  
  
“You’re pissed, Merls.” Fuck, and there it was, his own hard-on had a mind of its own, obvious now against Merlin’s.  
  
“Not _that_ pissed.” Despite the assertion, Merlin’s words had begun to slur together. Smiling to himself, Arthur gently removed himself from Merlin’s octopus arms and helped him toward the bed, where Merlin went down easily, trying to pull him along.  
  
“I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”  
  
“You don’t want to.”  
  
“You have no idea how much I want to.” Arthur said, but he wasn’t sure Merlin heard him. He was already half-asleep.  
  
After tucking Merlin in, Arthur grabbed a rubbish bin and set it within easy reaching distance; he didn’t think Merlin would be sick, but better to be safe. Merlin murmured something about stupid footie games and not liking music from the seventies either, _‘cause stupid Will that’s when the bad hair started._  
  
“Meet me at the Queen's Park tomorrow after my game,” Arthur said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He smoothed the sheet on Merlin’s chest. “We can have lunch or something.”  
  
That seemed to get Merlin’s attention. “M’kay. Where?”  
  
“Up at the top of Arthur’s Seat, off the path by that big rock that looks like a face. Do you remember?”  
  
“Yeah, I ‘member.”  
  
“Say three?”  
  
“Mmm. Yeah.”  
  
Arthur chuckled and jotted down the place and time, sticking the note to Merlin’s laptop because there was no way he was going to remember this conversation in the morning.  
  
By the time he turned around, Merlin’s eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.  
  
“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispered, running his hand through Merlin’s hair.  
  
********

  
Arthur regretted not picking another place. He’d chosen the romantic spot so Merlin would know his intentions were serious, but he hadn’t expected the day to turn cloudy. Most of the people he’d encountered had been on their way out of the park, but it seemed the rain would hold for a while. Long enough for them to eat the sandwiches Arthur had brought and perhaps for him to make fool of himself.  
  
Arthur was starving as he laid down the blanket on the grassy cliff a ways off from the trail and sat, fatigued but happy. The game had been fast-paced, and he’d covered more than his share of the pitch since Mackearnan had decided to be a dick, caring less about the game than about making Arthur run himself ragged. Still, the Knights had won, and the scout had approached him about a future with Hearts. When Mackearnan had seen them talking and realised his stunt had the opposite effect as intended, he’d glared and stalked off, muttering something that on another day would have sent Arthur after him, fists clenched and team unity be damned. But not today.  
  
His head buzzed with sudden possibilities stretched out before him like the city below the cliff. It had been a long time since he’d come here just to sit. From this vantage, the city was still as the grey water beyond. He breathed deep, letting his mind quiet as the clouds thickened over the horizon. It felt like home.  
  
“Trust you to make a hung-over bloke hike for his lunch,” came a breathless voice from behind. It was Merlin, smiling though he seemed tired and a bit peaky.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
  
“Like a horse’s arse.” Merlin laughed. “God, I’m such a wanker. I must have fallen asleep before ten.”  
  
“You were a bit drunk, mate.” Arthur began unpacking the lunch he’d brought—marmite sandwiches and crisps, the only food he’d been able to collect in order to get here on time—as Merlin flopped down beside him. He splayed his long legs out and the air filled with his familiar scent.  
  
“I don’t even remember anything. What time did you leave?”  
  
“After I tucked you in.” He passed Merlin his food.  
  
“I think I vaguely recall that.” The corner of Merlin’s mouth turned up, making a little crease that tempted Arthur to lean over and snog him. He wondered if Merlin remembered anything else that had passed between them, but instead of asking, he watched as Merlin took a bite of his sandwich and hummed in pleasure. "'s good.”  
  
“I made them myself,” Arthur said with mock pride. Throwing together a sandwich wasn’t exactly the most challenging task.  
  
“My favourite. Best birthday lunch ever.”  
  
“Shit, I should have taken you someplace nice. Or at least brought some dessert.”  
  
"I'll remember this on your birthday," Merlin threatened, giving him a playful shove. "And anyway, I'm allergic to most dessert-y things."  
  
They sat in silence as they ate. So far the rain had held off, and though a thin mist had begun to creep over the ground, the breeze was warm. Aside from a young couple that’d passed just as Arthur arrived, they were alone. He could tell by the sideways glances Merlin was giving him that he wanted to ask about the game and was resisting, waiting for Arthur to bring it up in case it hadn’t gone well.  
  
“So how was it?” Merlin finally asked, popping the last bit of sandwich into his mouth and brushing the crumbs from his lap.  
  
“We won.”  
  
Merlin looked at him expectantly. “Yeah, but you know . . . how did it go after?”  
  
Arthur nodded, trying to keep the grin off his face and failing. “I’m meeting with the Hearts’ coach next week.”  
  
“Fucking hell!” Merlin nearly tackled him in a hug. “That’s amazing!”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?” Arthur agreed, though at the moment hugging Merlin was better. Even after they pulled away, Arthur kept close enough for their shoulders to touch.  
  
“So what does this mean? Are you going to be on the team?” The wind began to pick up, lifting Merlin’s hair, which seemed almost black in the cloud-dimmed light. It looked fluffy, and Arthur fought the urge to tousle it.  
  
“I don’t know yet. It means they’re interested, at least.”  
  
“I can’t believe it. I mean, I can, of course I can, I’ve always thought you could, but it’s just . . . like a year ago you weren’t even considering it and now . . . Wow.”  
  
Arthur couldn’t stop smiling, the enthusiasm catching. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. But I’m excited,” he admitted.  
  
“I know it, you’re going to be grand and get traded to some huge team and you won’t even remember me.” It was said in jest, but Arthur could tell the thought came from a sincere worry. He shook his head, probably more emphatically than he needed to.  
  
“I could never forget you, you idiot.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s what you say now, Mr. Famous. Just wait until you have a hundred fit blokes coming round for autographs.” He was still teasing, but Arthur wanted to be serious.  
  
“I doubt that very much. And even if so, I’m not interested.” Arthur paused, hoping Merlin understood his meaning. “You’re the only one I want.”  
  
Merlin’s expression sobered, and Arthur, not knowing if that was a good thing or not, let the words he’d been holding back for so long rush out, his heart thundering. “I still love you. I don’t know how you feel, but I just wanted you to know that.”  
  
“Arth—”  
  
“Wait, just . . . there’s more I want to say first. I know I wasn’t ready before, but I am now. I hated not seeing you, not talking to you. Fuck, I . . . you’re the most important thing to me and I don’t care who knows it or what they think.” He turned to face Merlin, who was staring at him with an indecipherable expression, eyes wide. He couldn’t bollox this up. “I know I wasn’t a very good boyfriend, but I can be better. I was selfish and scared and kind of a prick, really. But I don’t want it to be too late.” Merlin’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but nothing followed. The silence stretched out for a beat too long, and Arthur felt a strong wave of despair. This was the risk he’d taken by telling Merlin, and now the words were out there and couldn’t be recalled. He tried to muster a smile, looking away so Merlin wouldn’t see his disappointment.  
  
“It’s not too late.”  
  
His gaze snapped back to Merlin, chest thumping with renewed hope. Merlin was still looking at him with serious eyes that seemed more black than blue.  
  
“It isn’t?”  
  
“No. I was . . . God, I’ve been wanting to tell you but it didn’t seem like the right time but I’ve never . . . I was always . . . I think I made a mistake before. When I broke it off with you I thought I’d feel better, you know, not having to hide, but fuck it, I missed you so much—”  
  
Arthur silenced Merlin by taking his face in his hands, running his thumbs over his soft, pale skin. Merlin’s eyes closed. When his lips parted to exhale, Arthur kissed him.  
  
It was so sweet, the sigh Merlin let out, and Arthur and pressed forward, his mouth searching, tongue sliding inside to slip against Merlin’s. The relief and joy of Merlin kissing him back, his arms immediately wrapping around Arthur’s shoulders, moving nearer, nearly stunned Arthur into inaction, but then Merlin whispered his name.  
  
The kiss became more frantic, and soon they had tangled together on the blanket, legs and arms entwined. Arthur broke away from Merlin’s mouth to kiss his neck, lick the hollow at the base of his throat, his body straining for more though somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him they were on the side of a mountain and it had begun to rain.  
  
Underneath him, Merlin’s hips shifted restlessly, and Arthur felt the hard line of his erection and sought it out with his own, grinding down for friction. Merlin was pulling at the hem of his shirt and he lifted only far enough away to get the damned thing off, before returning to press his lips against Merlin’s skin and touch the soft hair below his navel, questing lower.

  


  
“It’s raining,” Merlin panted, looking up at Arthur through inky lashes.  
  
“Don’t care,” Arthur said, heedless, and anyway the rain wasn’t so bad; it was a soft, spring shower, barely noticeable over the distraction of Merlin’s warm body. He kissed Merlin again, and again, knowing that there was more to say but it could wait, that it was this he needed, this desperate and tender coming together in a place he loved.  
  
“Wish I could fuck you,” he whispered, almost unaware he’d said the words aloud until Merlin hissed, “Yes.”  
  
The response shocked Arthur out of himself for a moment; he looked around, then back down to Merlin, who was already scrabbling with the fly of Arthur’s jeans. They were far enough down the slope they wouldn’t be immediately noticed, especially given the large rock that provided a barrier between them and the path.  
  
“Please,” Merlin said.  
  
“I don’t have anything,” Arthur said, grunting as Merlin reached inside and pulled his erection free, giving it a couple experimental strokes. He hissed as Merlin swiped his finger around the wet head, teasing around his foreskin.  
  
“I haven’t slept with anyone else,” Merlin said. “Come on, Arthur. Fuck me.”  
  
Groaning at Merlin’s words and the hand wrapped around his dick, Arthur pushed back with some effort, helping Merlin to wriggle out of his tight jeans. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he realized Merlin wasn’t wearing pants.  
  
“Look at you,” he said. Merlin’s cock slapped against his belly as the jeans were discarded somewhere on the ground. “You do this often?” He ran his hand along Merlin’s bare hip, smiling as the skin broke out into gooseflesh from the touch and the cool rain.  
  
“I didn’t have anything clean,” Merlin admitted with a lazy smile. “Mum’s not around to do my laundry and I can’t be arsed.”  
  
“Fuck’s sake, Merls,” Arthur said, his voice nearly a growl. He took Merlin’s mouth again and stroked his long cock, before his fingers travelled lower, searching for the soft curl of skin between Merlin’s legs. Merlin sighed as Arthur rubbed small circles there, pressing the tip of his finger gently inside. Fuck, Merlin was tight.  
  
When he started to broach the issue, Merlin gave him a seductive smile.  
  
“Make me come. And then . . . ” He flushed and bit his lip, and Arthur’s cock leapt at the unvoiced suggestion.  
  
“You’re going to kill me. I’m going to die here on this mountain,” he muttered, moving between Merlin’s legs. Merlin watched him as he leaned down and took Merlin’s cock into his mouth, giving it a long, slow suck before going to work in earnest, paying attention to the way Merlin’s breath picked up when Arthur squeezed his balls, lashed them with his tongue. He wanted to put his mouth _there_ , and so he did, pulling Merlin’s hips up for access.  
  
Merlin moaned, fisting the blanket as Arthur mouthed at his hole. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, Arthur realised, just musky and a bit sweaty, which Arthur soon discovered he loved because it was all so very Merlin. He lapped at the furled muscle, licking around the rim and then pressing inside with his finger, sucking the base of Merlin’s ruddy sack.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Merlin chanted, jerking his dick while Arthur opened him, his face wrecked with pleasure. “Gonna come.”  
  
Arthur took Merlin’s cock in his mouth to catch the spurts of salty-bitter fluid. The dirty intimacy of the act made Arthur’s prick even harder, and he had to hold him still while Merlin shuddered the final spasms of his orgasm into Arthur’s mouth. Using the come he’d gathered to ready Merlin’s hole, he drove his tongue inside along with it, getting him slick, feeling the tight muscle relax. Then Merlin was pulling on his shoulders, begging for Arthur to fuck him, to do it _now_. Arthur’s hands shook when he took himself in hand. He rubbed his cock around Merlin’s hole, using the head to push all of the come inside as Merlin shivered in the rain.  
  
Arthur took it slowly, working himself inside inch by excruciating inch, eyes darting between Merlin’s face and the place they were joining. He wasn’t going to last, that much was certain—it had been far too long and they were bare, nothing between them, and God, Arthur was fucking Merlin with his own come. Every inch was squeezed by tight muscle, and Merlin whimpered as Arthur stroked his softened cock, still sensitive from his orgasm.  
  
“Oh God, yes,” Arthur whispered once he was finally seated inside. He tilted his hips to get as deep as he could go before pulling back and thrusting, wanting to mingle his come with Merlin’s—together, like they belonged.  
  
The rain had begun falling harder now; Merlin’s hair was wet, plastered to his face, his lips slack and pliant. Merlin ran his hands up Arthur’s arms, squeezing his biceps, raking his fingers over Arthur’s shoulders and then down his chest. Arthur covered Merlin with his body, bracing himself and fucking harder, grunting with the exertion of each plunge. He felt wild and alive and Merlin’s eyes were bright as they watched, cock thickening up again between them.  
  
Maybe he whispered endearments or dirty promises or both, Arthur didn’t know, he was so consumed with the tight heat around his cock, the way Merlin clung to him. He rucked up Merlin’s T-shirt to get at more skin, reached down to help Merlin stroke himself off, couldn’t decide where to touch, was frustrated his mouth couldn’t reach the curve of Merlin’s jaw. He pressed tender kisses against his calf instead, and then sucked deep into the skin. His balls were drawn tight and ready to spill, but he wanted to stay like this forever, never stop, and so he bit his lip to distract himself, though the pain did little to overcome the pleasure. Merlin was arching beneath him, letting him thrust so deep, his hand a frantic blur over his erection.  
  
Arthur’s climax, when it hit, forced him forward. He fell over Merlin, spilling inside, filling him up with rolling hips. He realized he was making obscene noises muffled against Merlin’s throat.  
  
Merlin came again with Arthur still inside him, and they lay like that in the rain until they regained their senses, wrapped up in the blanket and each other.  
  
********

  
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell your dad,” Merlin said later, once they were clean and dry again and lounging in Merlin’s messy room. Arthur had noticed with some pleasure when they’d first come in that the little dragon he’d given Merlin was perched on his side table next to his bed, as if keeping watch. But now he was confused. He propped himself up on his arm, gazing down at Merlin who, shirtless, was even more gorgeous than he remembered.  
  
“I mean, it’s not like an ultimatum, yeah? Like a condition for this,” Merlin continued, gesturing between them.  
  
“Thanks,” Arthur said, sighing. “But I think I have to."  
  
“Is it okay for me to tell my mum?”  
  
The question was asked so sincerely, so hesitantly, Arthur kissed the worry off Merlin’s face. “I told you I’m serious about the no more hiding thing. You can tell the Pope if you want.”  
  
Merlin wrinkled his nose.  
  
“Maybe not the Pope,” Arthur agreed.  
  
“I’m already going to hell, probably shouldn't press the issue.”  
  
It was just a quip, but something inside Arthur recoiled at the thought. He frowned. “I don’t want any part of a God who’d send someone to hell for loving someone else. Do you really believe in all that?”  
  
“No way,” Merlin said, smiling up at him. “But look at you: next thing I know you’ll be walking starkers in pride parades.”  
  
“That really happens?”  
  
Merlin shrugged. “I've seen it in films.”  
  
They were quiet after that, Arthur tracing the lines of newly formed muscle on Merlin’s body, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky in the past month. For the first time since he could remember, he was sorted, headed where he wanted to be. It was a strange but pleasant feeling—happiness.  
  
Merlin broke the silence. “Do you remember that time when we were kids and you got mad at me because you thought I stole your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt?”  
  
Arthur laughed at the random question. He hadn’t thought of it in years, but he’d had a shirt with Donatello on it that’d gone missing once after Merlin slept over. It had been his favourite, and he’d been beyond angry, accusing Merlin of the theft. “What made you think of that?”  
  
“I have a confession to make.” Merlin grinned.  
  
“You stole it? You swore ‘til you were blue in the face you didn’t!”  
  
“I’m a good actor.”  
  
“I can’t believe this. That’s it, we’re through.” He made as if to leave, but Merlin tackled him back to the bed—the bugger was strong—and soon they were a laughing heap, legs tangling, hurling insults at each other.  
  
When their laughter had finally died down, giving way to arousal, Arthur kissed Merlin slow and deep, threading their hands together.  
  
“Why did you lie?” he asked, curious.  
  
“I wanted to keep it because . . .” Merlin flushed. “It reminded me of you.”  
  
“What did you do, wear it when you went to sleep?”  
  
Merlin bit his lip, his eyes bright and open.  
  
It was hard to know what to do with the feelings in his heart. Arthur kissed Merlin again, wrapping his arms around his best friend, and thought, _yes, this is who I was meant to love._  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
